


Happier than I deserve

by hobbeshalftail3469



Series: Strike and Strikability - I am no Bird and Reader, I married him [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: AU Regency, All the original characters from I am no Bird are back, All those Downton-esque character traits are back!, Early Labour, F/M, Matthew will get his comeuppance, The premise is that our Colonel and Venetia are expecting a baby, The promised Christmas Special is here!, all may not go smoothly, but don't panic, i don't do sad endings!, our Colonel gets a promotion, rumours of brothels, rumours of dalliances with Lady Charlotte, there will be a lovely happy ending.....again!, will it be at the hands of our Angry Badger again?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 14:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 36,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: The lovely Lucinda sent a prompt to the lovely LulaIsAKitten and in January of this year the fic, I Am No Bird took shape. It was basically a version of the Strike story and characters set in Regency England, and was jolly good fun indeed.I promised a Christmas Special......Colonel Strike and his wife Venetia will have been married for about a year and obviously, given how rampant they got in the 'E' rated follow up (Reader, I married Him) she is now expecting and close to her confinement.Dust off your fans and corsets again and join me as I count down a very unique and hopefully enjoyable Advent Calendar which should nicely lead up to the Boxing Day Spectacular being organised by lemon_Verbena (please join in that too......it will be ace!) - the idea behind the titles for the chapters is to imagine opening the door to a day on the advent calendar and be met by a suitably festive image....although whether I'll be able to come up with 24 is another issue entirely!Most of all, enjoy!
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Strike and Strikability - I am no Bird and Reader, I married him [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1281923
Comments: 294
Kudos: 61





	1. A Cherub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts), [Lucinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucinda/gifts), [BlueRobinWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRobinWrites/gifts), [EllieCrickets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCrickets/gifts), [Estie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estie/gifts), [PPMKatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PPMKatie/gifts), [ZoeSong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/gifts), [die_Frau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_Frau/gifts), [Tottenham15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tottenham15/gifts), [TBestigui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TBestigui/gifts), [StrikeMyHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikeMyHeart/gifts), [Nessa_Val](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessa_Val/gifts), [In the eye of the beholder](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=In+the+eye+of+the+beholder), [under_my_blue_umbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_my_blue_umbrella/gifts).

> Re establishing our completely loved up Robin and Cormoran, aka Venetia and Colonel Strike.  
It hints at bedtime shenanigans, but nothing is explicit as I'm trying to keep the style and language 'Austen-like'.  
It's all fluff and gorgeousness to start with....and very little happens......just lots of description of our man in Regency frock coats, boots and cravats! Hurrah!

Colonel Cormoran Strike inhaled deeply as his eyes drifted open.  
The familiar and yet still fascinating sensation of a languid, soft weight resting upon his chest and the associated scent of lavender and roses made him smile and cast his eyes heavenwards.  
What had he done to deserve such bliss?

He gently adjusted his position so as not to disturb his beloved wife’s slumbers; he enjoyed a few moments of complete privacy and intimacy with her as she lay in his arms…..and it gave him an opportunity to caress her even lovelier belly, rounded and enlarged as it was with their growing and now wriggling child.

“Good morning my cherub,” he whispered, laying his flat palm against his wife’s smooth, alabaster stomach, “And good morning my darling,” he said slightly louder having felt Venetia stir and press a soft kiss against his bare chest.

They had woken every morning since their marriage in a similar state; they retired every evening clothed in nightshirt and intricate gowns, and yet when daylight came they were always naked, their bodies entwined and had to hastily locate their discarded garments before summoning their personal maid and valet!  
Venetia’s breathy moan accompanied her husband’s hand sliding lower on her body and she gave a delighted whimper as he stroked her and pressed kisses against her eyelids, temples and eventually her lips.

She could not be happier in her choice of husband.  
He was attentive to her every need; witty and amusing; diligent in his duties as a Colonel and still the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on.  
Her impending delivery had not dulled their ardour and having sought medical advice were still enjoying each other in a varied range of matrimonial ways.

“Does my wife wish to stay in bed a while longer?” he seductively whispered, his fingers toying with her in a practised and thorough manner.  
Venetia groaned as she reluctantly dragged herself away from his touch, noting with delight his slightly petulant pout and grunt of displeasure.

“Much as I would dearly enjoy the prospect of a prolonged morning spent with you, dear husband, sadly you must make ready for your departure,” she stated, slipping from the bed and padding softly to the other side, collecting the Colonel’s night shirt before locating her own nightgown and slipping it over her head.  
Her husband groaned properly now.

A visit to London was a regular part of his role at the Catterick barracks. He needed to inform the various military officials of progress, and they in turn shared details of potential encounters or situations and required training regime alterations.  
In the past year since their marriage he had made the journey on two occasions, both times with his beloved Venetia at his side; however to make the trip so close to her confinement was unthinkable, and he wished to have the visit done so that he would not have to leave her side so quickly after the birth.

He sat up in their bed, allowing the covers to fall to his waist, exposing his muscular chest and shoulders and barely concealing his masculine desire for his wife. 

Pregnancy had given a pretty flush to her cheeks as well as a pleasing swell to her already exquisite breasts and he found himself wanting her more than ever.  
He reached out his fingertips to her and smiled as she rested on the edge of the bed.  
“Surely that is all the more reason to let me shower you with reminders of my love for you,” he wheedled, wriggling forwards and gently coaxing his pliant wife to press against his body as he wrapped himself around her, nuzzling into her neck.  
Venetia submitted to his ministrations briefly; she found his mouth and delivered a searingly passionate kiss to it; her tongue delving to stroke against his in breathless frenzy, but she used the resultant, momentary lack of control in her giant of a husband’s body to push him away, throwing his nightshirt to cover his face as he planted, face first onto the rumpled covers.

“I know exactly how much you love me, dearest, but I would much rather you start your journey in good light and make progress. The nights are drawing in sharply now; it will be full dark at around 4 o’clock, so if you intend to reach London in 3 days you need to make a good start today,” Venetia went across to ring the bell rope in the corner of the room and raised her eyebrows at her husband who realised this was his cue to pull on his nightclothes again and make his way to his dressing room.

“Why did I have to marry an intelligent wife? You make it impossible to argue with you!” he grumbled, good naturedly as he wrestled on his cotton braies; all thoughts of self consciousness regarding his withered lower right leg now lost as he felt as comfortable in his wife’s company as he did his own.

“Should you like to argue with me?” Venetia asked as she added a long, flowing robe of pale pink satin over her nightgown.

The Colonel cocked his head to one side as he considered the possibility before remarking with a wolfish smirk, “I seem to recall a rather wonderful outcome to the only time we have ever argued…..it was in a wheat field,” he stood and went to her, gathering her body against his, “….and it was raining…..and I didn’t feel a drop….and I kissed you.” He took the opportunity to do so again and Venetia willingly allowed herself to become lost in his mesmeric mouth on hers.

“Then perhaps we should let that one occasion serve as the only disagreement we share…..for fear that another may sully it’s memory?” she grinned as her husband nuzzled his nose against hers, glancing down at the protruding roundness of her belly, preventing him from crushing her to him.

“It is strange to consider that this shall be our final Christmas alone…..I shall miss spoiling you as I did last year,” he whispered.  
Venetia laughed at the memory of their glorious festive season at Tabley the previous year.  
They had spent Christmas Eve indulging in dancing and laughter with the Tabley staff and on Christmas morning Venetia had been woken to a veritable showering of gifts from her besotted husband.

“My darling, I could hardly thank you in the manner I did last year….or at least not all of the ways,” she giggled as his eyes glazed with the memory of their incredibly passionate and religiously inappropriate celebration of the birth of Jesus.

“But just think; in the new year we shall have a new life to consider…..one that we can indulge and teach and love……I surely do not deserve such happiness?” he stated.

The small servant’s door to Venetia’s bedroom opened as they parted and Alice’s expression as she entered with a jug of heated water was one of resigned familiarity – she had become accustomed, as had the other house staff, to finding their master and his wife demonstrating their mutual adoration for each other on an almost daily basis….however their ardent desire at least meant that there was only one bed which needed making fresh each day….and the sheets on the Colonel’s had thus far never needed laundering!

“Shall I help you dress madam?” Alice asked, meeting the warm and slightly dewy eyed expression of her golden haired mistress.  
Venetia nodded and discarded her satin robe before allowing her personal maid to remove her heavily embroidered nightdress and begin washing her back and shoulders with her preferred soap scented with lavender and rose petals.


	2. A basket of Festive Fayre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just breakfast!  
Establishing again the role of the wonderful Shanker in this story - his role as right hand man to the Colonel stemming from saving his life on the battlefield.  
Just lots of lovely scene setting really - and as usual I have made this a story which involves separating them.....AGAIN!  
(I always do this....and I then hate having to get them back together, and in the days of coach and horse travel it takes flippin' ages.....but is essential to the plot....so bear with!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way - I cannot believe I wrote him in a mallard green frock coat - I wrote this a month ago, but last night at the BIFAs Monsieur Burke was sporting an entire suit in the shade.....he obviously got my memo!

Some time later she made her way into the morning room, which was still her husband’s preferred place to share his meals with his wife.  
As was the norm he immediately placed a marker inside the book he was reading whilst he waited for her and stood to embrace her.  
He was dressed in a pair of tan coloured breeches, which would be suitable for riding in; along with tall, chocolate brown leather boots. His cream shirt was snugly covered by a thicker weight, herringbone tweed waistcoat and one of his familiar tail coats – this particular one in a shade of deep, mallard green.

Despite taking his role as master of Tabley very seriously, one of the aspects he had never managed to reconcile was the fact that he was supposed to control himself around his wife at all times……how was that possible for any man?  
He was flesh and blood….and the sight of Venetia always made him momentarily dizzy, even more so now that he was fully aware of every delectable curve which was always so elegantly attired.  
Today was no exception.  
Her glorious hair had become even more glossy and luxuriant since her pregnancy and the swell of her breasts against the square neckline of her pale blue coloured gown played havoc with his tightly reined in equilibrium.

He greeted her with outstretched hands, pulling her gently towards his body and seeking her lips with his needy mouth.  
The sensation of his bristled facial hair against her soft cheeks always aroused her.  
It was a brief, but passionate reacquaintance of their bond which satisfied the Colonel’s immediate desire, but also served to fan the flames of need within him…..coffee and devilled kidneys was a poor substitution for his true needs!

Venetia summoned the delivery of their breakfast via the small corded bell beside her and settled herself as best she could for comfort on the high backed chair.  
Her appetite had grown significantly, and now that she was no longer nauseous in the mornings she had discovered a taste for all manner of foods and flavours which she had never before desired.  
Usually they served themselves, but since her increased size and discomfort it was left to her loving husband to fill her plate – usually several times!

Barclay delivered several covered, silver dishes to the sideboard and retired through the discreet doorway.  
“How shall you manage whilst I’m away, dearest with nobody to feed you?” the Colonel asked mischievously as he handed her a plate filled with steaming and highly spiced kidneys, potatoes and kedgeree, which she had assured him previously was a marvellous combination on one plate!

She smiled and giggled at him as he prepared a plate for himself. “I shall have my mother to stay for several days, and Mrs Herbert will visit from Harrogate, and of course we do enjoy the services of a number of staff, my dear. I’m sure they will be easily capable of catering to my needs….and if any of them find that too taxing I’m certain your man Shanker will either persuade them otherwise or politely escort them from the premises!” she arched her eyebrows impishly and giggled afresh at her husband’s expression.  
“Shanker is very much loyal to me….and by definition to you. I was dreading telling him that I would take Thomas with me as a man servant on this occasion, but the man almost told ME that would be the case! I swear that other than to actually pay him there is nought between us that signifies me as HIS master!” the Colonel shook his head as he shovelled a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Well, it is certainly reassuring to have him here whilst you are away, my love,” she added. “How long should you be gone?”  
“I intend only to stay in London for 2 days, but it will take me 3 days travelling each side, so I shall be back with you in a little over a week…..and not a moment too soon. I shall miss you, both of you,” and he couldn’t stop himself moving over to her and pressing his palm and a soft kiss against her belly.  
She indulged his rather un-masterly behaviour given that they would be separated shortly.

“You’ll send word when you’ve arrived won’t you?” she asked, stroking his soft and slightly wild curls as he lingered with his ear to the swell of her stomach, his strong arms wrapped around her hips and his right leg cast out sideways in his familiar, awkward crouch caused by it’s withered state.  
“Of course I shall….I shall send you a love letter in my own hand…..smattered with kisses for you both and telling you how lonely my bed has been without you,” he reluctantly got up and indicated wordlessly that he intended to refill his coffee cup.  
Venetia flicked her hand and head slightly to show her sated state.

“Much as I shall miss you my darling, I would much rather you set out early from here and make it to Newark in good time,” and she rang the bell a second time to signify that their meal was at an end.  
The Colonel drank down most of his coffee before refilling it for a third time and taking it in his left hand before offering his right to Venetia as they left the room.  
“I shall quickly arrange the papers I require and change my coat,” he explained en route to his study, which also doubled as their extensive library. “I hope to be underway within half an hour, my dear.”

Venetia nodded at his plan and proffered a small kiss to the tip of his nose as she released him to see to his duties before summoning Hatherill to ensure his trunk had been packed and was ready to be sent ahead to London.  
He reassured her in his calm manner that everything had already been sent out that morning, together with a smaller box which would be at Huntingdon when he arrived there.  
She sighed and considered that a brief separation was a small price to pay for the happy, trusting marriage she shared with her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.....she may rue those words and thoughts!!!!!


	3. A trusting donkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Colonel leaves for London..... (on his reliable 'donkey' or in our case, his horse! - go with me it's a sodding advent calendar and I seriously regret this as a chapter title idea already!)  
......and Lady Charlotte Campbell knows of his impending arrival! Cue Wa ha ha ha! evil laughter!

Just less than an hour later the Colonel had changed into a thicker riding coat and had added a brown and black scarf around his neck to replace his cravat. His cavernous dark grey wool cloak had been fastened across his chest and he was adjusting his leather gloves as Shanker ensured the weight in his saddlebags – which contained his overnight apparel and basic toiletries – was balanced across the flanks of his black mare.

Venetia had wrapped a flattering plum coloured shawl around herself so as to wave him off, although her husband had forbade her to stand out in the cool air, therefore she watched his impressive physique from the shelter of the front doorway.  
Satisfied, he strode back towards her rather than put on his tall hat.

“Venetia, my darling, you will take care?” he almost insisted rather than asked of her as he clasped her small hands in his large gloved ones.  
She smiled up at him warmly; pregnancy was certainly adding an additional glow to her features, as was the additional weight she carried in her face. The dimples in her cheeks showed all the more sweetly, and despite the presence of their servants he lowered his face to hers for a searing kiss which continued for several, panting moments.  
When they eventually drew apart he rested his forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her hair, of which he would never tire.

“My darling husband, I shall be as careful as I always am. Did I not promise to reduce my visits to the workers cottages last month? And have I not done so?” she stated, glaring at the hooded green eyes of her beloved husband.  
He smirked down at her, “You did indeed….and I still feel that two visits weekly is too much for you….most women in your condition would have taken to their beds weeks ago!”  
“But I, my dearest, am not ‘most women’!” she replied charming him with her wit and confidence.

She held him, totally enraptured and incapable of denying her anything…..and was completely aware of this on a daily basis!

He drew her fingertips to his mouth and delivered a more appropriate, but none-the-less passionate, kiss to her hand before whispering close to her ear, “A fact which I give daily, and nightly thanks for!”  
His warm breath at her neck almost reduced her to a moaning wreck….she was fully aware that although she could charm him to agree to her every whim he could equally make her agree to anything he desired…..a whispered comment; an arched eyebrow; a flick of his finger across her wrist….they shared a very equal marriage indeed!

Shanker cleared his throat from beside the Colonel’s horse.   
Much as he secretly enjoyed seeing his master, and close acquaintance from his military days, so happily married to a mistress who was both generous and warm hearted, he was also eager to get him off on his journey so that he could tackle sanding and varnishing the wooden cradle he’d been working on refurbishing since it had arrived from Cornwall at the Colonel’s request.

“I think that is my cue to leave you my darling,” and he squeezed her fingers, casting her a crinkle-eyed wink before striding across and taking the reins from his valet.  
“You’ll watch her,” he instructed, receiving a curt, but honest nod from the man who had saved his own life and who he trusted more than any living man.

Colonel Strike swung himself up into his saddle with the ease and practise of one accustomed to riding. He settled himself and permitted his valet the task of sitting his right foot more firmly into his stirrup as he set his tall, military hat upon his head – it was the simplest way of transporting it to London with him and also served as an effective head covering for the cold, wet weather.  
Venetia sighed in the doorway regarding the man she loved.   
He looked so handsome on horseback; so natural; and so imposing.  
He flashed her a further soft smile and she returned it with the open honesty she was incapable of controlling around him.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he stated, turning his mount in a tight circle.  
“A week!” she replied, forcefully and with threat in her voice. “And give my kindest regards to the older Herberts won’t you….and ask Nicholas….ask him in person.”  
The Colonel nodded, “Yes, I promise I will. Take care my dear.”

And with a clattering of hooves and a spray of gravel he was off.

Lady Charlotte Campbell had returned from another extended journey across Europe; as far as Italy and Greece on this occasion. Her father had sent her out of the country when rumours had again begun to arise surrounding her behaviour towards, on this occasion, a titled but rather witless member of the extended Scottish aristocracy. There had been concerns that she might have required closeting away from a minimum of none months or so; but as it transpired her journey of three months had been enough to convince her father that she could return.  
She had seen the announcement in the newspaper; 'Recently Colonel Cormoran Strike was married to Miss Venetia, only daughter of Mr and Mrs Michael Ellacott of Keighley.'

It had affected her more deeply than she had wished to admit. She had thought him besotted with her, and only her.  
The fact that she had moved very obviously away from him and openly sought the attention of Lord Jago Ross, resulting in to her mind an alarmingly arousing scene of the Colonel storming out of the tearooms in London well over a year ago now was a mute point.  
She had assumed he would remain loyal to her charms.  
She had assumed he would welcome her attentions when she decided to bestow them in his direction.  
She had not assumed he would fall in love with another and move on.....certainly not someone as attractive as Miss Venetia Ellacott with her sparkling eyes, creamy complexion and lustrous, almost fairytale-like hair.

She had assumed wrong.

And she was quite unaccustomed to being wrong....or at least to it being pointed out in such an obvious manner.  
And Jago Ross had proven to be rather dull.....and weak.......and not particularly skilled in pleasuring her; despite him taking things considerably further in the amorous stakes than Colonel Strike had ever done!

Therefore the invitation to dine at the Hyde Park barracks a few days hence, when she had been reliably informed a certain Colonel would be in attendance was too good an opportunity to waste.....especially as she had reason to believe his devoted wife would not be by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES! Lady Charlotte is a scheming cow!  
Please join in with a panto-esque style Boooo Hiiiiiiisssssssssss!


	4. A festive cheese board!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an awful lot of fluff really over how the Colonel is deliriously happy about his wife expecting their child.  
There is a lovely little aside nod to Rosmersholm (anyone who either knows the characters or watched the stage version.....I couldn't realistically add fermented trout, but I got as close as I could!)  
...and the welcome return of parmesan!!! (who would have thought cheese could be so seductive!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved thinking back to parts of I Am No Bird and adding a few little intimate facts that I had hinted at originally - such as why she had smelled a familiar. masculine aroma on her pillow at Tabley etc.

Venetia watched until her husband was a speck before turning and making her way inside to warm herself at the fire in his study, enjoying the fact that he had left a partly smoked cigar stub in the ashtray and rolling it between her fingers, inhaling one of the mesmerising scents of her husband.

Her mother was arriving the following day, so she had an afternoon and evening of solitude. It didn’t bother her unduly, although usually she would have taken herself for an invigorating walk around the park to both pass the time and maintain her figure.   
She’d promised her husband that she would limit her daily walks until the baby was born….two months seemed a long way off.

She therefore moved some of the papers from her husband’s desk and went to fetch several of her own from the desk in her own parlour. She enjoyed working in Cormoran’s space, and so she settled herself to continue preparations for the festive season, including preparing menus for meals as well as a guest list for their own celebrations for the New Year.   
She had persuaded the Colonel to give a party to celebrate the new year, despite his misgivings about the timing so soon after her confinement, and they had already agreed on some guests, mainly ones linked to the Catterick barracks, but he had left the rest of the preparations to her will.  
She had assured him that far from over taxing her the party would serve as an incentive to ensure that she got back into the routines of the house and didn’t spend too long mooning over their child….she had stared pointedly at her husband when making the comment, and he had responded with an eye rolling smirk…..yes, he knew he would have to focus on his role at the barracks rather than endlessly wonder whether his son, or daughter, had done anything new and marvellous that day!   
To say that he was looking forward to his impending fatherhood was somewhat of an understatement!

Running the household had seemed daunting for Venetia at first, but she had quickly adapted to the task of ensuring things ran smoothly and having given several dinner parties and gatherings of increasing size was now enjoying the task of arranging the larger party they were throwing.  
Several guests would be staying overnight; including their friends the Herberts, her parents and her younger brother.   
She was in the process of calculating how many best wax candles would be needed and covered a small section of paper with her tally and additions.

Moving onto menus and table decorations was the next of her considerations and after a while she summoned Mrs Helseth, the cook and housekeeper who appeared using the main doorway, as was her right due to her position within the household.

“Have you time to consider some of the details of the party….perhaps agree on some of the menus?” Venetia asked as Mrs Helseth seated herself.

“Of course madam. Have you already given the matter any thought? I might put in a word for some fish….maybe a poached trout as a centre piece?” she stated in her blunt and incredibly Yorkshire accent.  
Venetia’s face showed animation as she shared her existing list of suggestions – dishes which she knew to be favourites of her husband plus popular party treats.

“We must have some parmesan cheese,” she stated, wistfully thinking back to a time before she could claim a part of the Colonel’s heart when she had shared the salty delicacy, hidden behind a curtain, in a library.

“Very good, madam. And of course we’ll have fruit cake from Christmas…I’ve already taken the liberty of making an extra layer…..set it aside to celebrate the baby,” and a feint flicker of warmth flashed across the otherwise stern features of Mrs Helseth.

“That was most thoughtful, Mrs Helseth. I wondered whether we could offer a syllabub as well as a traditional wassail?” Venetia suggested and was pleased by Mrs Helseth’s responding nod. 

“That way we can serve the wassail warm; made with cider and brandy I think would be best, with sherry and orange for the syllabub. Have you added gingerbread to your list, madam? I know the master is partial to it.”

Again, Venetia smiled, writing on the list in her neat, cursive font. “And don’t forget shortbread biscuits….and maybe some candied fruits,” she mused.  
Mrs Helseth nodded again, “Naturally, madam. And of course we’ll have dishes of sugared almonds and spiced peanuts as well as displays of hothouse fruit dotted around the various rooms.”  
It was approaching 3 o’clock in the afternoon by the time Venetia had satisfied herself with various lists and small diagrams.  
She made her way upstairs to wash and make herself tidier for tea which she knew Hatherill would serve in the morning room at 3.15pm promptly.

Meanwhile the Colonel was making good progress on the first part of his journey towards an overnight stay at a trusted inn in Newark.  
He broke his journey for a late luncheon to rest his mare before continuing on along the fairly good roads at a fair pace.

His thoughts, as always these days, were of his impending fatherhood.   
When his darling wife had shared the news after they had been married for just three months he had been thrilled; and then stunned; and then terrified.

They had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary, and he found his wife more beautiful, fulfilling and kind hearted by the day.  
Their life together at Tabley was a blissful one; although the fact that their Member of Parliament was the scoundrel Matthew de Cunliffe always irked him.   
The man seemed to forget that Venetia had cast him off, despite his proposal of marriage to her. 

Venetia had made it clear that her eyes and heart had turned away from the man soon after his arrival at Tabley….when he had tumbled out of a carriage accompanied by Lady Sarah Shadlock, and Cormoran had never had any reason to doubt that. 

Since their marriage there had been numerous intimate conversations between them when they had shared secret emotions from prior to their engagement; the Colonel recalled a candlelit maze when Venetia’s hair had, in his words ‘shone so golden it felt like it was setting his heart ablaze’.  
She had shared, blushingly that she’d noticed his tightly clad backside in a mirror at a party long before they had become more than passing acquaintances, and he had equally blushed when he admitted that he had traced his palm across the pillow of the bed she would use on her first visit to his home…..Venetia had confessed that she had smelled a trace of his scent and it had rendered her heady as she fell to sleep.  
Each sweet, intimate discussion and admission of feelings had been followed by more opportunities to share their love physically; even though his seed had been needless so soon into their marriage.

He was not concerned about his wife’s feelings towards him; nor her impression of Mr De Cunliffe…..he just despised the man and after the dreadful incident in the servant quarters at Tabley, and the occasion when he’d witnessed him slinking his way out of a brothel in London early in their acquaintance, didn’t trust the man.  
Still....he need not worry about Matthew De Cunliffe.  
He would be in London for as short a time as possible, and in all likelihood wouldn't even cross paths with the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....ooooh, but of course he will!!!!!!!!!!!..........................  
I've also put that little reminder in about Mr De Cunliffe's taste in establishments......just in case you'd all forgotten what a rotter he is!.....I am saying nothing about whether that will have some meaning in time!


	5. A welcomming inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual I have separated my main characters, the Colonel is enroute to London and staying overnight at an inn, Venetia remains at Tabley.  
She is reading Aristophanes, especially Lysistrata....the one where all the women ban sex in order to get their menfolk to start talking and resolving problems.

Back at Tabley Venetia took her tea whilst continuing to read one of the latest books they had acquired for the library.   
She found that she was enjoying the plays of Aristophanes. The Assembly Women had made for some hilarious discussions between her and the Colonel….both of the opinion that if women could indeed infiltrate parliament they would do a sight better job of it than the current miscreants in charge!

It had lead to a discussion about whether the Colonel would himself ever seek such a role….he’d laughed and shook his head at her,   
“Dearest, my function in life is not to be a politician in parliament: it is to get something done, which I can fulfil far easier when I am only seeking to please my own conscience!”

She was currently enjoying the play called Lysistrata, which Cormoran had advised her to “read, but not to take any ideas from!” and as she sped through the volume she understood his amusement!

She went up to take a short nap and inhaled the scent of her husband from the pillows, wondering where he had got to on his journey as it was dark as pitch outside. She hoped he had found refuge at the inn in Newark by now.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The Colonel rode the last part of his journey in darkness; not something which worried him unduly, although it was always risky.   
Shanker had ensured that he had a loaded pistol in his saddlebags (unknown to Venetia of course) and he had clipped it onto his saddle as a precaution as the light faded. But he could make out the various glowing lights of Newark ahead of him and knew that a warm bed and hot food awaited him.

Thus his horse clattered up to the coaching inn at a little after 6 in the evening. He dismounted and unclipped the redundant weapon from the saddle as a familiar stable boy arrived to deal with his sweating horse.  
In various journeys to and from London he had used the same inn, and his large, black mare was a frequent visitor to the stables…..the stable boys also knew that the Colonel tipped generously for the swift and thorough attention to his mount.

Once inside the comfortable inn he was shown up to what had become his customary rooms; a large bed chamber with a clean, well padded mattress, wash stand, dressing mirror and comfortable chair and an adjoining room containing a crackling fire, wooden table and high backed chairs for dining should he choose to do so in privacy rather than in the often rowdy, but good natured atmosphere of the inn itself.

He had requested that Thomas make his way to London with his luggage and therefore he would be without a man servant until he reached London, however the inn staff were accustomed to attending to him and an older gentleman whom the Colonel recalled was called Thornton knocked on the door before entering and nodding at the large man as he began removing his riding cloak.  
“Thank you Thornton, if you could bring me some hot water and I’ll eat in the inn this evening if that suits you. I have rather an appetite and I feel disposed to company….and some decent ale!”

Thornton nodded and made off for the water and to ensure that a suitable table near the fire could be freed for the Colonel.   
Thornton was a hard working inn keeper; regular, well paying clientele worked in his favour, and when they were as amicable as the Colonel and his beautiful wife he granted them pretty much free rein over his establishment.

He barked out an order as he neared the bottom of the wooden staircase for his son, Will, to fetch the best jug and fill it with hot water and went across to the fireside where he slapped ‘Old Ambrose’ across the arm, dislodging his elbow from the table and waking his snoring slumbers with a start.

“Get up and move away over there,” he indicated another table across the inn, “This one is for the Colonel.”

Old Ambrose’s eyes flickered slightly in the glowing warmth of the fire, “Is his good lady with ‘im this time?” he asked, recalling her previous visit to the inn when she had insisted that Ambrose take a seat at their table when there was no other to be had.   
Despite his 60 plus years Old Ambrose could still appreciate the pretty eyes and rosy cheeks of a beautiful lady….and it had been a very pleasing way of spending an evening!

“No she ain’t! Now get off while I get Tilly to clean this down and set it out for his dinner,” snapped Thornton good naturedly….he recalled that evening himself, for some reason the inn got rather crowded every time she arrived alongside her husband….she was good for business!

Up in his rooms the Colonel stripped off his coat, scarf cravat, waistcoat and was in the process of removing his boots when Thornton reappeared with a large, steaming jug which he placed beside the ewer.  
Thornton knew from experience that the Colonel dealt with his own boots and instead busied himself hanging the discarded clothing and arranging it so that it might air and dry out overnight.  
A tap at the door signalled the arrival of one of the stable hands delivering the Colonel’s saddle bags, and Thornton moved swiftly to ascertain which items the Colonel would require for his toilette – he removed soap, fresh braies and socks as well as a nightshirt which he placed on the pillows as he turned back the covers on the bed.  
There was also a fresh shirt, silk waistcoat and plain cravat which Thornton removed and shook out, regarding their condition.

“They’ll be fine, Thornton, they won’t require pressing,” the Colonel stated, as he pulled himself free from his shirt and held it out for the older man’s attention. “If you could be so good as to have this laundered for the morning I would be most obliged.”  
Thornton took the garment and folded it roughly, but effectively in his hand.  
“Of course, Colonel Strike. Will there be anything else for the time being, Sir?”  
“No thank you Thornton, I’ll see to my own dressing this evening and will make my way down into the inn in a while. Thank you,” he added over his shoulder as the creaking floorboards signified the exit of the man.

Cormoran poured hot water into the ewer and set about flannelling his sweat covered body with his sandalwood soap and washcloth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....I 'm just leaving that image floating there.....shirtless and flannelling himself down....hmmmmmm.


	6. A roaring, crackling fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really happens in this chapter, but I have tried to incorporate the kitties!!!!  
I have Venetia still consuming alcohol because in Regency times.....well, they would have!  
I've also added the Colonel smoking a pipe - I have been rewatching Series 3 of The Musketeers and Athos with his pipe always amuses me!

Venetia summoned Alice to help her dress – despite dining alone she still maintained a degree of propriety, although she had requested that the morning room would suffice her needs rather than bothering the servants with setting a fire in the designated dining room.  
Her wardrobe of gowns to cover her growing stomach was somewhat limited (at her own preference – her husband would happily provide her with as many new clothes as she desired!) but she selected a soft, apricot coloured gown with fashionable elbow length sleeves and added a lace scarf at her neck. Alice fixed her hair into a pleasing, simple style and she went down to eat a delicious meal comprising a veal soup, fillet of sole, beef wellington and stewed plums with cream.  
She sipped her way through a glass of wine plus a glass of sherry as she sat in the parlour to digest her food before retiring to bed.  
The baby within her was always more active in the evenings, so she found herself conversing with her belly as she read more of her Lysistrata and shared the amusing lines with her unborn child.

Colonel Strike made his way down into the inn, ducking under the low ceiling on the staircase and greeting Thornton and his wife, Mrs Thornton or Tilly as he was aware was her name.  
“Mrs Thornton, how nice to see you looking so well. I trust that I shall be treated to some more of your excellent food this evening,” the Colonel gave her one of his customary curt bows as she blushed at his attention and bustled off to no doubt check on his dinner.  
He glanced and saw the table which was clearly intended for his use and made his way across.  
His limp was a little frustrating to him – he’d possibly galloped a little too much towards the end of the journey and strained his legs in the stirrups – but the proximity to the fire would undoubtedly help.  
He had pulled back on his breeches and boots, with fresh underwear, and combined with a clean shirt, his swirling black and green coloured waistcoat it rendered his thicker weight jacket an appropriate addition to his overall appearance.

Several of the regulars at the inn noted the impressive stature of the Colonel and responded to his nods of recognition with sometimes self conscious, sometimes slightly smug ones of their own….to be acknowledged publicly by a clearly well established gentleman was akin to ‘bragging rights’ in the small town.

Thornton sent across a pitcher of best ale which Cormoran lost no time in sampling with a delighted lick of his lips to remove the malty foam from his moustache.  
He had downed at least half of the jug’s contents by the time a platter of cold, cured meats, pickled vegetables and slabs of crusty bread were brought across as a first course to his dinner.

As always, the food was plain but superb; the thick slices of roasted pork with crackled skin, potatoes and carrots served with a meaty gravy and a deliciously sweet apple chutney was particularly good, and the dessert of a hot, currant pasty smothered with cream flavoured with rum rendered the Colonel almost rapturous.  
Well fed and comfortable before the fire, with a pleasing level of amusing tavern banter going on around him he settled back in the wooden chair, sipping his way through the rest of his jug of ale and enjoying a pipeful of tobacco; sharing a discussion about the various methods of packing the vessel for best flow of smoke with Old Ambrose who the Colonel had invited across to join him when he had finished eating and saw the old man tamping down tobacco in his own clay pipe.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Colonel Strike woke refreshed and ready to tackle a second day of riding. His leg felt recovered and he had slept well after a pleasant evening and a belly full of good, hearty food.  
Thornton packed away his small array of clothing and toiletries whilst he ate a breakfast of porridge sweetened with honey, toast slathered in butter and dripping and a thick slice of salty ham.  
His shirt had been laundered and cleaned, although he wore the one he’d had on in the evening for his day ahead of him, meaning he would have the fresh one to change into for the second evening, this time in Huntingdon.  
He set out earlier in the day than he had done from Tabley; partly to avoid the more dangerous riding in the dark, but partly because he had nothing to make him linger in Newark!

As usual he settled his bill promptly, left a generous amount for what he considered to be a more appropriate charge for the services he had been provided with and ensured the stable staff were generously rewarded for their attention to his horse who appeared glossily groomed and well saddled for the next section of the lengthy journey that the mount was accustomed to making, albeit only a couple of times each year.

Venetia woke up and dressed before taking breakfast and checking the arrangements for the arrival of her mother who was expected at noon.  
She would be a welcome distraction to her solitude, and was also proving to be a reassuring mentor throughout her pregnancy.

This would not be Mrs Ellacott’s first grandchild – Stephen and Jennifer had delivered a grandson in the previous spring – but obviously, it was the first occasion that she had been able to be a close and intimate support. Jennifer had naturally confided in her own mother and older sister throughout her state.  
Venetia had asked for advice and guidance from the earliest stages – even when she was not certain that she was with child.  
She had asked her mother about her symptoms and requested further guidance and ideas as she endured morning sickness, tenderness in her body and other curious and new sensations that only another woman who has delivered a child could truly empathise with.

On this visit Venetia was hoping to seek advice regarding the actual birth and nursing afterwards.  
She had read several volumes and recent papers from the medical fraternity – her husband having made it a personal mission to understand the process in its entirety – and she had several questions to ask…..mainly because all of the written material appeared to be penned by men rather than people who would have actually gone through the physical process!

Mrs Ellacott arrived as planned and settled herself in one of the comfortable guest rooms and cleaned up after the relatively short journey from Keighley.

The ladies spent a pleasant luncheon together catching up and discussing all manner of topics from Venetia’s pregnancy to the mill, and family at home, including tales of how poor old Rowntree was coping with the recent addition of a small, Syamese kitten who had been named Ozymandias and was apparently still insistent upon involving the poor dog’s tail in all his mischievous games.


	7. A cow in a stable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Colonel manages to get himself to London at last and prepare for a 'duff duff' EastEnders style chapter end thanks to a certain female turning up!

Colonel Strike’s second day of travel passed without turmoil and his overnight rest at Huntingdon was made all the jollier by the accidental presence of Lieutenant Phillip Armitage who had been one of his early recruits at Catterick and was working his way swiftly through the ranks based on his aptitude and studious abilities.   
The presence of the small packed trunk was also a welcome addition as it enabled him to completely change his clothing and footwear for the evening.   
A fresh, lighter weight jacket was very pleasing, as was the small package of shortbread biscuits tucked inside together with a cotton handkerchief which had according to Venetia’s hand written note been cossetted against her breast and bore her subtle, floral and uniquely feminine scent.  
He inhaled it; felt the twitch to his groin and swiftly placed it on his pillow….for further attention later!

Phillip was on his way back to Catterick following a brief stint in the barracks at Hyde Park where he had been learning some new skills which he would convey to the younger cadets back in the north.  
They discussed some of the political debate from the city; Armitage informed him of the presence of Matthew de Cunliffe and his noisy arguments which seemed considerably opposed to the best interests of the part of the country he represented – increasing taxes on industries would undoubtedly affect half of his voting borough where men like the Ellacotts provided honest and long standing employment. Increasing their costs and reducing possible profit would surely only result in lower wages or poorer working conditions!

The two men parted to their respective rooms after hearty embraces and when he rose the following day the Lieutenant had already set off. 

The Colonel set off on the final part of his journey leaving his trunk to be sent on after him.   
He was to be staying with his friend Nicholas Herbert in his parents’s London townhouse, his horse would be stabled at Hyde Park and his plans whilst in town where to meet with the Generals and report on the progress of recruits and the Catterick barracks in general and spend an evening in the company of the Herberts who would no doubt arrange a small dinner party gathering whilst he was present, although he would much rather spend an evening in the company of his friend at his club!

Nicholas was making a success of his role in one of his father’s banks in Bradford, and often visited London to check on acquisitions and prospects; it was also in his best interests to remain ‘friendly’ with various businessmen and men from various ranks of the gentry.  
It meant frequent visits away from home, and was no doubt a factor in why he and his wife had yet to bring forth any offspring themselves.

Colonel Strike reached London and the barracks in the early evening; he ensured his horse was settled and took himself via a carriage to the address of Mr and Mrs Herbert senior.  
After a brief welcome from the butler he was shown to his rooms by a footman, were Thomas had already arranged his clothes and who appeared shortly after the footman departed.  
This evening he would be dining at the barracks and much of the business would be discussed, although he knew he would be required there the following day also.

A rap on his door signified the arrival of Nicholas Herbert who shook his hand and embraced him warmly.   
He was on his way to an evening at his club and suggested that Cormoran come by after his business at the barracks was completed.   
The Colonel agreed to the idea and the pair parted company so that Cormoran could complete dressing – full military apparel was generally familiar, but it now felt stiff and somewhat uncomfortable after his recent days without a starched collar and cravat.

Venetia’s days and evenings were passing in the pleasurable company of her mother.   
They discussed arrangements for the baby’s nursery and the pros and cons of a wet nurse – Venetia was against the concept, although the Colonel had wished to convey that he was willing to outlay any expense on his wife’s comfort.  
Thankfully Mrs Ellacott was able to reassure Venetia that the act of suckling babies had come easily to her each time, and far from being uncomfortable or time consuming had served as a way of easing the pain in her breasts and giving her much required quiet time alone in the otherwise fretful and fussing house!

“Colonel Cormoran Strike,” came the announcement as the Colonel surveyed the busy officer’s mess.   
He recognised a large number of the military men, and their wives in their finery and for a moment felt the loss of his beloved Venetia by his side.  
He was approached by General Galbraith who held out his hand to shake the large, swarthy palm of the Colonel.

“Good to see you again Strike, and perfect timing, we’re one short at table….you can do us the honour of escorting Lady Campbell into dinner,” and he stood aside to offer the slender, gloved hand of Lady Charlotte Campbell to Colonel Strike’s as he made a more formal introduction, “Lady Charlotte, may I introduce Colonel Strike.”

“The Colonel and I are already acquainted, General,” she purred, almost pushing her hand upwards to force Cormoran’s lips to make contact with the supple leather.

“Splendid!” shrieked the General, completely oblivious to the tension in Strike’s body, before abruptly turning his attention to another small group and leaving the pair to their uncomfortable interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAarrrgh!!!!!! I KNOW!  
The cow!  
Poor old Cormoran like a lamb to the slaughter!!!!!!


	8. A beast of burdern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Charlotte is as persistent as ever with her regard for the Colonel....but never fear, for he has an iron like restraint now that he has his beloved Venetia!  
However, Lula's beloved Nicholas Herbert pops back up....and that scoundrel De Cunliffe is involved in his potential downfall!!!!!

The Colonel almost snatched his hand away from Lady Charlotte’s lingering grasp and averted his gaze from the sight of her slender, elegant body.   
She was wearing an incredibly sheer gown of purest white silk with a single strand of coral beads at her neck and various silver and diamond ornaments in her intricately styled hair.  
There was no disputing that she was still incredibly beautiful; but he couldn’t help but consider how very different her almost icy looks were to the warmth and beauty which radiated from every pore of his wife.

How could he have had his head turned so completely by this woman?

Because she was beautiful, elegant, well bred and had showed him; a poorly raised bastard; the vaguest of attentions in his youth….anyone would have turned their head at her interest!

He had, however had the good sense to recognise that the fluttering passion of youth bore no resemblance to the deeper and more overwhelming love of his life, and he found the fact that he was required to escort her somewhat frustrating, but it did not make him in any way nervous….there were enough people present to ensure she couldn’t imply any impropriety and he had no intention of spending more time with her than was necessary after he had taken her into dine.

He was aware that her eyes were roving across him as his own eyes continued to scan the room.

Lady Charlotte Campbell was enjoying the warm masculinity which oozed from the Colonel, although of course she had known him when he was merely Captain Strike.   
Her attraction to him had been purely physical from the outset; his wild dark curls, hooded green eyes and sheer muscled size was still as appealing, even though she was fully aware that he was now married to some pretty little mill owner’s daughter based in the north of England.

“No Mrs Strike this evening, Colonel?” she asked, piercing him with her icy blue stare.  
The Colonel cleared his throat, momentarily taken back to nights on the ship to Spain when those eyes had seen into his soul and made him reckless.

“My wife and I are due to be blessed in a matter of weeks, she is resting at home prior to her confinement,” he explained noting the fractional flash of, was it remorse? Jealousy? that showed behind her eyes.

“How charming,” she almost snarled, “So you’re here all alone, Colonel….how convenient for you. You married men are all the same in your ‘tastes’, and there are plenty of places catering to them in the town,” she almost spat.

Cormoran managed to bite back the bile rising in his throat at her insinuation and clenched his hand into an unconscious fist at his side.  
He was about to reply when the gong sounded and he was forced to offer his arm for Lady Charlotte to rest her hand on as he led her into the dining hall behind the Generals and their wives, but above the Brigadiers due to her title.

The various courses of food, accompanied by significant quantities of wine appeared in a seemingly endless stream.   
The Colonel made sure to sip at his glass in order to keep fully aware of his unwanted companion.

On one occasion he felt her small hand, hidden from view by the linen tablecloth, rub firmly and purposefully against his thigh and without showing any outward sign of anything untoward he removed it and discarded it into her own lap whilst offering his full attention to the elderly wife of General Fitzallen who was regaling him with the finer details of her daughter’s forthcoming wedding – a subject on which he would usually only show mild interest in, but which on this occasions served as a pleasing distraction to reverting his attention to Lady Charlotte on his other side.  
Undaunted Lady Charlotte had shifted her position slightly and slipped her silk-clad foot from one of her shoes in order to trail her toes against the stiff leather and softer cloth of his breeches above them, reaching as far as his knee without tilting her upper body. With iron fisted determination he merely shifted his legs and crossed them to the opposite side of his seat beneath the table meaning that even her flexible joints could not reach him.

Thankfully the ladies withdrew to allow port and cigars for the gentlemen, and having caught himself up with most of the men he had not already exchanged pleasantries with he was able to make his excuses and leave early – pleading exhaustion after his taxing journey.

Breathing deeply he decided to walk in the direction of Nicholas Herbert’s club; it was a pleasant evening and the exercise was good for his leg given it’s constrained position in stirrups over recent days.

The door was swung open for him and he inhaled the masculine aroma of cigars, brandy, leather and hair pomade.  
“Colonel Strike, how pleasant to see you again. Mr Herbert informed us of your visit this evening, although I fear you have just missed the man himself,” stated the grey-haired burser.  
Strike flashed a slightly surprised expression across his face.   
Nicholas had himself asked for Cormoran’s company, and having left the barracks before rejoining the ladies he was early rather than tardy in his timing.

“You are more than welcome to take your leisure here this evening, Colonel,” continued the older man.

“Did Mr Herbert leave alone? Or was he engaged in a business affair do you know?” the Colonel enquired.  
He noted the flash and purse of lips from the old gentleman behind the desk.

“He spent some time with several of the Members of Parliament who frequent here, Colonel. They appeared to be enjoying their whisky prior to leaving, especially a Mr De Cunliffe,” he added.

The Colonel nodded and winced; it was unlike Nicholas to drink to excess, and he seldom mixed with those types of ‘gentlemen’ let alone Matthew De Cunliffe. “And have you any inclination of where the gentlemen were intending to move onto?” he asked, almost dreading the reply.

The guarded and professional gentleman hastily scribed on a small notecard and slid it across the dark, polished wood.

“I believe you may find them at this address, Colonel,” and he met the steely gaze of the Colonel as his eyes registered the nature of the address and flashed a wordless, ‘Thank you’ at the man.

The Colonel about turned and hailed a carriage giving an address which was close to the one he had been shared, but which was not as shameful or damaging to his credibility should he be followed or seen alighting.

What the hell was Nicholas Herbert doing with De Cunliffe?

And why the HELL was he frequenting a brothel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue the Colonel to the rescue!!!!


	9. A holly wreath on a blue door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My mind was taken back to the part in Career of Evil where Cormoran is touring strip joints and is approached by a red head who offers to be his 'friend'.....I LOVE the cheeky grin on his face in the TV version!  
I LOVED writing this bit.....he's just so Colonel-ly!!!!

The carriage pulled up and Colonel Strike paid the driver before heading in the direction he knew would lead him to one of the seedier parts of the city; an area he did not know well, nor did he have any desire to.  
His memory was taken back to one of his first meetings with Matthew De Cunliffe – he had seen him skulking out of a tatty establishment with a blue door and it had been clear the nature of it’s business.

The address he had been discreetly passed was the very same building and he shook his head as he crossed in order to enter it.

The mere thought of what took place in these businesses made him nauseous; he knew of course that all manner of gentlemen frequented them; military men were actively encouraged to ‘let off steam’ and enjoy themselves in such surroundings. However the Colonel had always abhorred the concept and found no enjoyment or thrill in sexual congress without the loving reciprocation of his partner.  
He had lain with his darling wife only…..and his intention was for that to remain the case until he left this earth.  
Why on earth would he seek more satisfaction than he found in her arms?

What he was struggling to comprehend was how Nicholas could have become tainted by this interest.  
In previous discussions on the subject he had always professed the same opinion as Cormoran.  
Nicholas adored his wife, and hated being separated from her, but he was able to control his desires…..or at least he always had been in the past!

The Colonel swallowed hard before tapping his gloved knuckle on the blue paintwork.  
The door was opened a fraction before the flash of his red uniform acted as an invitation and he was ‘welcomed’ inside.

The smell was a mixture of stale sweat, cheap and over powering perfume and tobacco smoke.  
The Colonel’s own revulsion was swiftly set aside as he was approached by a large, overweight female whose breasts were barely concealed within her frayed stays.

“My, you’re a big ‘un,” she stated, trailing her closed fan along the Colonel’s shoulder, “Just in town for a night are we, Sir? What are we in the mood for then?”

The Colonel flinched and pierced her with a narrow eyed gaze, “Locating my friend and leaving is all I desire, madam.”

His eyes had grown more accustomed to the gloom from the candles and glowing fire and he was starting to make out bodies, mainly coupled together, around the sides of the room, sprawled and seated across various pieces of furniture.

“Oooh, a friend is it…..we can provide all manner of friends, Colonel……a blond friend? a dark one? or even a non-female one if that’s what you’re after!” and she laughed along with several of the ‘regulars’ at her own comment and the reaction of the smartly dressed Colonel.

Thankfully Cormoran had spotted Nicholas Herbert.  
He appeared almost comatose and was lying face down on a chaise which looked like it may once have been covered in velvet, hand trailing on the floor and mouth open in an unappealing drool.  
“Never mind, madam, I seem to have found what I’m looking for,” and he pushed past her blancmange-like bulk to reach his friend.

He crouched awkwardly down beside him and pulled up his eyelids, finding the eyeball beneath it swirling, but conscious.  
He physically man handled Nicholas’ body into a more seated position and Nicholas finally seemed to appear aware of his large friend’s presence.

“Co’lel Sttttrike, I’m pleazhed you made it….let m’instrodush you to s’me people,” he slurred, waving his hand blinding around.

“What the hell are you doing here Nicholas?” Strike asked, regarding the undignified state and surroundings as a cuffuffle broke out near a curtained archway.  
A ‘gentleman’ and two scantily clad women tumbled through into the reception room, the man familiar to the Colonel.

Initially he didn’t seem to notice, but as the Colonel stood to his full height the other man stopped fiddling with his trousers and stabbed out with his finger.  
“Strike!......Cormoran Strike as I live and breathe. Didn’t think this was your kind of thing….but when the cat’s away, hey?” he laughed, spilling whisky liberally around as he swung his partially filled glass.  
Colonel Strike barely managed to conceal his snarled lip and head shake of contempt as he regarded the state of his local Member of Parliament.

“You have the wrong impression Mr de Cunliffe. I am merely here to accompany my good friend here to a more appropriate establishment for a night cap,” he stated, hauling Nicholas Herbert to his feet and draping his weight across his shoulders as he made his way towards the door.

“Thought you might have grown tired of wifey’s charms by now……but she always was a spirited little thing!” Matthew De Cunliffe continued, seemingly oblivious to the pause in Cormoran’s transit to the exit.  
The military man slumped his inebriated friend against an obliging coat stand and crossed back towards the odious, sniggering man.

“My wife’s charms are none of your concern, Mr De Cunliffe.” He considered punching him soundly across the jaw, but recognised the man’s alcoholic state and thought better of it……unlike De Cunliffe he WAS a gentleman, and punching a man under the influence just wasn’t done unless one was in a similar state.  
He settled for stretching out his hand and making sharp contact with the man’s head, pushing him backwards and making him lose his footing on the wooden boarded floor. “I suggest you sit down and sober up, you’re a disgrace,” the Colonel retorted in his gruff baritone register, before swinging swiftly around, scooping his arm beneath Nicholas Herbert’s shoulder and accompanying him outside with a brief inclination of his head and a general acknowledgement of “Ladies,” as he departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like you can imagine the song Holding out for A hero playing as he swoops out!


	10. A welcoming hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Colonel has rescued his friend Nicholas, and they discuss their next step.  
However, who has spied them exiting the instantly identifiable building?  
Oh, I also had to bring back Thomas and remembered I made him Welsh! So he is speaking in his Welsh accent!!

The cool night air roused Nicholas Herbert somewhat and he managed to stagger alongside his burly companion away from the establishment and towards the various carriage stands.   
Colonel Strike remained clutching his friend upright and said nothing; there would be time for recriminations and explanations in private.

So engrossed were the pair in trying to maintain a semblance of dignity as they made their way towards the more reputable parts of London that they failed to notice a covered carriage making its way past, containing a familiar dark haired, luminous skinned female.

Lady Charlotte Campbell had been furious upon discovering that Colonel Strike had departed early from the barracks. She had been hoping to persuade him into a rekindling of the amorous interactions they had shared in the past.   
The fact that he was now married held no barrier to her; she was a titled woman of fortune and was used to getting her own way; so his decision to leave the gathering rather than continue his attentions towards her had earned her ire.  
She had spotted Cormoran’s distinctive physique as well as the flash of red and golden epaulettes of his uniform as he and his friend had stumbled out of the blue, painted door.  
She was fully aware of the establishment and what services it offered.   
The sight of him made her press her lips into a pout…so much for his beloved wife at home!   
He was after all a typical, red blooded man……which somehow made the fact that he’d refused her advances all the more painful.  
The pain stabbing at her bosom needed an outlet; and she would ensure that Mrs Strike found out the truth about her husband, the Dashing Colonel, and his behaviour.

The Colonel managed to bundle his friend and himself into a carriage and gave instructions to transport then directly to the townhouse belonging to Nicholas’ parents.

“Are you able to offer any explanation?” Cormoran asked as Nicholas clutched at his head, grimacing and moaning softly in his throat.

“I made the mistake of joining a rather raucous table at the Club. Lord knows what they were drinking….but I tried to keep pace…..don’t ask me why, then I remember them suggesting we go for some fresh air and a change of scenery….then I remember seeing you,” Nicholas Herbert explained, valiantly trying to quell the surging sensation in his stomach and head as the carriage clattered along the cobbled streets.

“So I take it you had no idea that I located you in a brothel?” Strike asked, arching his eyebrow and stifling a smirk at the look of abject horror and disbelief on his friend’s face.

Nicholas retched, swallowed and thankfully as the carriage came to a standstill was able to aim his emission into the gutter rather than cover himself or his companion.  
The driver cast a curious glance at his passengers, but seemed pacified that larger of the two gentlemen appeared able to escort the other away from his still, thankfully, clean vehicle.

The Colonel dragged his friend towards the house and the startled looking footman who settled the fare whilst the gents made their way into the familiar warmth.

“I think I’d like to go straight up,” Nicholas stated, although Strike shook his head at him bluntly.

“No, you need something to eat first, and some tea if any is available,” he stated as the Butler bustled out from his rooms, noticing the state of the younger Mr Herbert.  
“Are you quite well, Sir?” he enquired and was met with the gaunt looking features of the man as he himself queried the question.  
Was he quite well?   
What on earth had possessed him to get involved with a drinking group including Matthew De Cunliffe of all people?   
And what in heaven’s name would he tell his wife about all of this?

The Colonel took charge however, “He will be quite recovered I am sure, although perhaps some buttered toast and tea would be helpful….and in his room please along with some water for washing. I’ll ring for some myself later,” he couldn’t possibly explain his desire to clean himself and wash away the filth and pervading odour of that ghastly place.

“Very good, Colonel. I shall see to that immediately. Your man, Thomas is still up, would you like me to send him to you?” asked the butler, tactfully.  
The Colonel nodded, “Perhaps to Mr Herbert’s room initially and he can assist if he is required.”  
With a nod the older man moved silently off leaving Strike to help Nicholas up the two flights of stairs to his room.

The expulsion of a quantity of what he had previously drunk had helped him to become more sober and aware of his surroundings, and he therefore was able to haul himself up the landings with only a minimal amount of assistance.  
Once inside his own room he flung himself across his bed before tugging himself free of his crumpled cravat and finally bringing himself to sit on his bed, head in hands as the Colonel seated himself at the leather armchair beside the glowing embers of the fire.

“Thank God you found me,” Nicholas murmured after a silence between them. “Tell me….honestly…..did it appear that I had…..” his voice trailed off, but his narrowed hazel eyes spoke of his inner turmoil.

Shaking his head Cormoran allayed his fears, “Not at all from what I could see….you were unconscious on a chaise….and fully clothed. Check the ties on your braies….I’m sure you’ll find them secure….in your state there would be no way you could refasten them!”

This concept appeared to invigorate the slender man and he moved over to his dressing screen appearing several minutes later scratching at his smooth chin, but otherwise looking reassured.

“Would it be dreadfully cowardly of me to not tell Ilsa about this?” he asked, pacing across the rug, jumping fractionally as Thomas arrived through the concealed door.

The men waited whilst Colonel Strike's adept servant arranged hot water on the washing stand and set out a plate of buttered crumpets and two cups of already brewed tea on the dresser.  
He hovered clutching the now empty tray.  
“Thank you, errr, Thomas, I shall manage myself,” Nicholas stated.  
“Verrry good, Sur,” he spoke in his soothing, Welsh accent before turning to his own master, “If you could ring when you’re ready and I’ll bring up some hot for you, Sur.”  
The Colonel nodded and the pair of men waited until he’d left before they continued their conversation.

“Nicholas, nothing happened other than you making an incredibly foolish error. What would possibly be served by telling your wife about this?” 

“I don’t want to keep secrets from my wife, Cormoran,” he stated bluntly, but honestly. “But, I can’t honestly see what good could come of admitting my folly to her, other than for me to feel incredibly stupid.”

The Colonel reached across and took the cup and saucer, sipping on the slightly too milky for his preference tea, but which was hot and somehow comforting.

“Drink, and eat something,” he instructed Nicholas, who puffed out his cheeks at the mere thought, but acquiesced upon a further pointed glare from the Colonel. 

After taking an initial, reluctant bite and sip from the tea he realised it was actually more pleasant and served to calm the queasiness he was still struggling with.  
“Nicholas, I commend you for not wishing to have secrets in your marriage, but I ask you…what would you actually say to her? You can be damned sure De Cunliffe won’t breathe a word; it would damage HIS reputation far more than yours to be found in such a place! Can you imagine the voters in his constituency taking kindly to that? They are almost all family men of decent upbringing….he’s already on shaky ground given the recent plans of his party to raise taxes on businesses!”

Nicholas Herbert considered the direct, but considered information from his friend.   
He was right – De Cunliffe would surely not breathe a word, in which case why did he need to sully his wife’s view of him as a perfect husband?

“Would you tell Venetia?” he asked, biting down on a second toasted crumpet and regarding the Colonel.  
Cormoran considered the situation reversed, if he’d been foolish enough to get himself into a drunken stupor and end up in such a salubrious establishment due to Matthew De Cunliffe would he tell his wife?

“I wouldn’t tell her…..but then again I’d have drunk HIM under the table hours ago!” he smirked, which turned into laughter as the pair considered the evening.

“If he did say something I could always challenge him to a duel!” Nicholas chuckled, the tea and food having fortified him.  
The Colonel laughed out loud at the idea, “Well I’m not being your second….I’ve seen him shoot! Bloody shot could land anywhere!”

They considered the short comings of Matthew De Cunliffe for a few more minutes; mainly his complete ineptitude as a representative of their views at parliament rather than his personal qualities, or rather lack of them, before Cormoran drained the lukewarm tea and hauled himself to his feet.  
“I shall leave you. I’d advise you to have a decent lie in tomorrow, your head will probably thank you for it. good night, Nicholas.”

He limped a little as he made his way down to his own room; crouching on the floor and almost carrying Nicholas had put more pressure on his weakened leg.  
After ringing for attention Thomas appeared swiftly with plenty of hot water and assisted his master in removing his clothing, leaving him to sponge himself down and wash away traces of the powerfully pungent aroma from behind the blue door. 

The Colonel slipped a fresh nightshirt over his head, rubbing at his dampened hair with a linen towel before pouring himself a whisky from the decanter and standing, angling his right leg towards the small fire in the grate.

“Shall I build it’ep?” Thomas asked, but saw his master’s head shaking to decline.  
“No, I need my bed, Thomas….as do you. Thank you for your assistance. Good night,” he threw over his shoulder, still gazing into the flames, pleasurably considering how like the colour of his Little Robin’s hair they were before he drained his glass and took himself across to his crisply covered bed.

He extinguished his candle thinking how he might find it difficult to sleep given the excitement of the evening; Lady Charlotte Campbell had been bad enough, but add Matthew De Cunliffe and Nicholas Herbert in a brothel to it, it definitely made for a challenging few hours!


	11. A mixing bowl full of Christmas cake...and a spoon for stirring!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the Colonel.....in a manner of speaking! (DON'T PANIC.....NOT THAT KIND OF END!)  
A lovely role for Mrs Herbert to ensure she will always be close to the Strike family.  
....and Lady Charlotte really steps up her plans to meddle!!!!!

The Colonel woke to the subtle sound of a cup and saucer being set down close to him and the feint morning light being allowed to filter in as drapes were drawn back.  
“Good morning, Thomas,” he stretched and smiled at the more pleasing sight of dark, almost teak coloured tea in a cup beside him.  
Thomas was efficiently moving around, opening cabinets and laying out fresh under garments for his master.   
He had already steamed out the creases from his uniform and repolished his tall boots to a high shine which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Colonel’s knowledgeable gaze.   
He allowed the tea to filter into his system, cleansing his palate after the rather strong cigar he had taken advantage of at the mess hall the previous evening.  
“I’ll dress and head over to the barracks this morning, although I do need to send out a letter before then. You’ll see that it gets posted immediately,” he instructed as Thomas nodded and went over to the wash stand to pour steaming water out for him while the Colonel took advantage of emptying his bladder in the pot in the corner.

A short while later, following a brief, solitary breakfast, he was seated behind a writing bureau in the downstairs library constructing a letter to ‘My Dearest, most beloved Venetia,’ informing her of his safe arrival; uneventful journey apart from bumping into Phillip Armitage; and his desire to be back in her arms above all things.  
He toyed with whether to inform her of his forced role as escort to Lady Charlotte, but instead decided he would tell her in person as soon as he returned to Tabley, where at least he could read her unspoken body language, and he could ensure that any questions or queries she had could be answered promptly, and honestly.

Having addressed and sealed the note he summoned a servant and recognised the footman who had greeted their carriage.   
He instructed him to ensure Thomas took the letter directly to be posted and checked his appearance in the large, oval mirror before taking the cane which had been sent along with his trunk and awaiting the arrival of his hat and gloves in the large hall.

The brisk walk to the barracks was pleasing exercise for his leg, which benefitted from the use of the cane and did not appear unduly out of place in London as the smartly topped accessories had become a popular fashion item.

He was warmly greeted and welcomed into the hive of masculine activity upon his arrival at around 10.30, and spent a pleasing hour or so advising recruits and several more senior ranks on pistol skills, of which he was somewhat of a renowned expert.   
He was finally ushered through to the officer’s mess along with several Generals, a Major and some lower ranked, blush cheeked youngsters.   
He remembered the sensation of being in their position all too well, although he himself had mainly risen through the ranks in battle and had only started to attend such non-combat events once he had the benefit of rank behind him.

Luncheon was a typically noisy and calorie laden affair with soup, pate, oysters and crab, roast beef oozing with blood, baked apples and cheese. All of course washed down with a selection of white Burgundy, claret and port of the finest vintages.  
They’d discussed several issues and resolutions relating to the army as a whole, and the Colonel had given a thorough account of Catterick and the recruits there with their varied skills.

“Well…..t’comes to the point in fact now my boy,” announced the most senior General seated at the head of the table. “Strike, you’re an asset to us and we’ve heard and seen only good things about you and what you’re doing up there in the North for us. So…..how’d you like to be a Brigadier?”

Cormoran digested the praise and the final announcement, glancing around at the expectant, masculine faces seated around the long, oval table.  
He noticed for the first time the alarming amount of facial hair on display in the guise of various moustaches, many of which were tinged with grey.  
He couldn’t help but think that delivering him a more senior rank now that he was in a position to never be able to take part in active combat seemed somewhat redundant, but it was definitely pleasing to be singled out at such a relatively young age.

Gathering himself and aware of his need to respond he grasped his glass and stood, raising it towards General Calder, “I say I am most gratefully obliged, General," and he waited until the decorated man had raised his glass back and drunk before taking a sip of his own port and sitting back down as applause, table banging and much shouted praise was thrown in his direction.

Back in Yorkshire, Venetia was enjoying her afternoon tea, grateful of the fact that by her calculations her husband would be well underway with his military business and planning to return to her, albeit after a further 3 day journey.  
Ilsa Herbert had joined her again, her mother had returned to Keighley earlier that morning and she had an opportunity to discuss more amusing and frivolous topics of conversation with her bosom friend.  
They had already discussed various aspects of Venetia’s pregnancy; Ilsa had confided in her a long time previously that she and her husband enjoyed a passion filled marital bed, but their couplings did not always appear to coincide with the times during her cycle when his seed could make her with child. However, Nicholas was intending to train up a promising new candidate who would take on the part of his job which involved the frequent visits to London.  
Venetia had just added more hot water to the pot and she replaced the lid before reaching across to take her friend’s hand in her own.

“Ilsa, my dear friend, the Colonel and I have discussed some matters relating to after the birth, and whilst he is visiting your husband he is to be having a similar conversation with him as I am having with you,” and she smiled warmly into Ilsa’s soft, honest eyes. “Dear Ilsa, Cormoran and I would be very honoured if you would agree to be Godmother to our firstborn.”  
Ilsa Herbert gave a small gasp of delight and covered her quivering lip with her hand, “I would be delighted dearest Venetia, and I am certain that Nicholas will feel likewise.”  
The two ladies clasped their hands together and shared a smile before sipping more tea and nibbling small, fancy cakes and tartlets filled with pears.

In one of the smart tearooms of London two other ladies were seated sipping tea, nibbling on small sandwiches and taking dainty bites from pastries.   
Their body language however was a marked contrast to Mrs Strike and Mrs Herbert’s.

“And he was just brazenly stumbling out of the place?” Lady Sarah Shadlock enquired, almost apoplectic with glee.

Her companion, Lady Charlotte Campbell nodded, “Shameless behaviour….and with his wife so near to her time. Poor thing, she’s probably oblivious!”

Lady Sarah smirked, wickedly as she sipped from the rim of the fine china, “Still, if she’s that fat and hideous who could blame him?” she cackled.

The dark haired woman across the table shrugged her slender shoulders, “All husbands are the same I expect….they need their fun and if wifey can’t provide it there are plenty who one can pay for the privilege.”

“I’m heading north later today as a matter of fact,” Sarah commented, meeting the raised eyebrow of the other ‘lady’.

“Really? How lovely, the weather looks fine for your journey. Will you be visiting Mr De Cunliffe again? Although I hear daddy still doesn’t approve!” she laughed.  
Lady Sarah rolled her eyes, “He’s handsome enough, but politics is so dull…..and no title!”

Lady Charlotte gave a wry smile, “It all adds to the passion though,” she stated, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes a little as she recollected stolen moments from her past. “Tell me about your plans in the north,” she abruptly changed the subject and spent the next cup of tea listening to her ‘friend’.

Lady Sarah Shadlock began her journey up to her father’s estate later that afternoon.   
Travelling in a closed carriage meant she could journey later into the evening, unconcerned about the dark roads despite the danger for the horses and driver!

Lady Charlotte returned to her parents’ lavish townhouse, hoping that her female acquaintance would have the same loose tongue and enjoyment of creating discord as she had always had.  
The fact that Colonel Cormoran Strike was still incredibly handsome; incredibly charming….and now undoubtedly unattainable due to his imminent fatherhood, was vexing. Combined with his lack of attention to her at the Officer’s mess, and his apparent enjoyment of other women as an alternative these were was knocks to her vanity.  
It therefore pleased her to consider that Lady Sarah would no doubt take some opportunity to share the rather shocking news of the Colonel’s downfall.  
Hopefully ensuring that Mrs Strike would share in some of the pain she felt behind her own ribs....although she would never accredit this to her longing for the loss of the tall man whom she realised no longer regarded her with affection.  
If she could feel no joy, Lady Charlotte would instead try to ensure that others felt worse than she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....she's a cow!  
She really is!!!!!!!


	12. Two gentlemen wassailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well of course there just HAD to be a huge misunderstanding didn't there!!!!!!

Colonel Strike made his own way back to the Herbert family townhouse in the very late afternoon….one might even call it evening.  
The combination of good and copious quantities of food and wine, together with the swelling feeling of pride in achieving a recognition and further military rank had left him feeling light, but wishing he could instantly share the news with his darling Venetia.  
Upon entering the house he was met by a significantly improved looking Nicholas Herbert, who received the news of his military promotion with back slapping, hand shaking vigour and instantly demanded Champagne to celebrate.  
The opportunity seemed appropriate, and therefore after the initial toast to his success he stilled his friend and cleared his throat.  
“I know that Venetia is making a similar, personal request of your wife whilst I am visiting here, so with that in mind, Nicholas, my wife and I would be greatly honoured if you would do us the honour of acting as God father to our child. You are one of the few men whose company I would choose rather than enjoy my own solitude, and I am certain you will be a trusted and active mentor our son, or daughter. Do you accept?”

Nicholas felt a blush to his own cheeks; he was very aware of the fact that he and Ilsa had been married significantly longer than other couples and had not yet borne off spring; but the request for him to act in this role was precious and earnest.

“I would be delighted to accept, and I trust Mrs Strike is requesting that Ilsa act as God mother?” he queried.  
The Colonel nodded and shook hands with his friend before raising his glass and proclaiming a toast , “to strengthening ties between us.”

They dined at home that evening, a relatively small affair with just 12 or so guests and 5 courses.   
All thoughts about the previous evening’s events were abolished and talk was of politics, the Colonel’s promotion and his and Nicholas’ impending journeys back to the north.  
Cormoran was setting off the following day, and despite everyone’s desire to keep his company a while longer they understood his desire to return to Tabley given his wife’s time  
Nicholas was to remain in town for a couple more days before he too would be returning to his wife and their comfortable home near Bradford.

After passing a pleasant amount of time with various acquaintances of the Herberts after dinner the Colonel made his leave.   
Nicholas caught up with his friend on the main landing.

“Before you take your leave I must thank you once more for your discretion and support,” he stated.  
Cormoran inclined his head as he took the outstretched hand, “Take heed, the next time you may not be so fortunate…..consider your choice of company. I’m not sure your father would thank you for the business it might bring if that is the level needed to stoop to in order to acquire it!”  
“Quite so,” Nicholas agreed, “Consider me well and truly admonished for my actions. I shall not be endeavouring to lull Mr De Cunliffe and his ilk’s business any further!”  
The Colonel rested easy, knowing that the following journey, although taxing after so short a respite in London, would carry him back to his wife and the comfort and calm of his own household once more.

Halfway back to Harrogate, where Lady Sarah Shadlock had taken a townhouse – coinciding with the election of Matthew De Cunliffe as Member of Parliament for the seat – and she was slumbering as the coach changed horses and driver so that it could continue on it’s journey without the need for resting overnight.  
Lady Sarah deplored travelling, but hated staying in coaching inns even more.   
On this occasion northwards she had arranged to spend the following evening at an estate, long standing friend of the family, where she could spend a further day before continuing her journey.

And so it was 2 days later, when Venetia was making a rare, but much needed visit to one of the quieter tearooms in Harrogate, accompanied by Mrs Herbert, that she became aware of Lady Sarah Shadlock being in town.

The calm atmosphere of the tea salon was rudely pierced by her high pitched cackle as she and one of her acquaintances, a Miss Arnthwaite, were led to one of the more secluded tables, sectioned from others by ornate silk screens and foliage; coincidentally the next one to the table being used by the Mrs’ Strike and Herbert.  
Venetia and Ilsa were merely thankful that they hadn’t been spotted, and were quite happy to continue their tea and pleasant chatter regarding the best purveyors of Christmas fayre to utilise for the festive season.

However, it soon became clear that Lady Sarah’s topic of discussion was rather more blunt.   
Her trill voice carried easily in the sedate surroundings:  
Miss A : And he did so without any encouragement?

Lady S : Oh without a doubt, Lady Charlotte has a long standing, somewhat intimate acquaintance with the Colonel don’t you know.

[sniggering from both ‘ladies’]  
Miss A : And so they were both at the barracks? And he was without his wife? How frightfully opportunistic!

Lady S : Indeed!

Miss A : It doesn’t appear to have taken him long for the shine to wear off his supposed idyllic marriage then!

Lady S : With his wife so near to her confinement who can blame him for having his fun with an old flame! Lady Charlotte certainly spoke fondly of our Colonel, apparently that leg of his doesn’t hold him back at all! In fact Lady Charlotte said that his muscles felt rather improved by his disability!

Miss A : Goodness! She had hands on experience of Colonel Strike?......at a dinner function? How thrilling!

Lady S : You know Lady Charlotte…..any opportunity and she’ll take it. And apparently on this occasion he was a more than willing recipient.

[further cackling giggles erupting together with a clattering of crockery]

At the adjacent sheltered table Ilsa Herbert and Venetia Strike froze as the information seeped across and it became increasingly obvious who the pair were referring to.  
Mrs Herbert went to rise and interject on the pair, but was stalled by Venetia.

“I think I would like to return home. Would you be so kind as to summon my carriage,” she stated softly and with a clear trembling falter to her voice.  
Ilsa made her way to seek out assistance, all the while running through the information that had been so bluntly and cruelly shared.

Surely Colonel Strike would not have been dining with lady Charlotte Campbell out of free choice?

But Lady Sarah spoke with such authority, and she had just arrived from London, and had the ear of her friend Lady Charlotte….why would she invent such a string of events when there would clearly be witnesses if it had occurred at a barracks dinner….although quite how her hand would have encountered his muscular thighs might have required a little more privacy!

Seated, statue-like at her table Venetia feared she might either faint or purge herself imminently. 

Her husband had been honest and open in regards to his prior dalliances with Lady Charlotte Campbell; and Venetia had considered that she had nothing to concern herself with….but she considered the memory of Lady Charlotte’s slender, waif-like silhouette in comparison to her own puffed and swollen physique.

Before she could become lost in her own sentimentality and doubt, Ilsa Herbert had bustled back over to her and was scooping up their gloves and posy bags, chattering quietly and without drawing breath to fill the uneasiness.  
“Come along, dearest, the carriage is already waiting for us. Let us retire to Tabley and let you rest. I’m sure there must be some misunderstanding and it will all be resolved upon the Colonel’s return to you. I’m certain it cannot be him that is being discussed, or at least there will be a perfectly understandable explanation,” although Ilsa Herbert’s thoughts were racing about the possible slender friend that had apparently accompanied him, as well as the fact that surely Lady Sarah could not possibly share such information without being able to substantiate it.

It certainly wasn’t painting the Colonel in a favourable light.

Venetia tried to maintain her composure as best she could, although several of the other clientele of the salon cast her raised eyebrows as she and Mrs Herbert made their exit.

In the sanctity of the closed carriage however her resolve crumbled and she sagged not her friend’s body.

“Ilsa……what on earth has been happening in my absence?” she sobbed as her friend considered her possible responses.  
“Dearest Venetia, surely this can only be a grave error. Although I am at a loss to make suggestions which could explain it,” she added honestly, reading Venetia’s thoughts exactly.

“He has sworn that she means nothing to him now; that she was a youthful infatuation….and I believed him Ilsa.”

“Now why have you leapt to conversing in the past tense, my dear. You must control yourself and wait. He’ll be back with you tomorrow, and I am certain if you make him aware of what was said he will be able to explain himself,” Ilsa twisted her lip and her hands in her lap, hoping that she was correct.

“Shall you stay over at Tabley? Please, Ilsa….I’d appreciate your company this evening,” Venetia sniffed.

Mrs Herbert nodded beside her and reassured her friend that she would remain close by her side until her husband returned and explained himself.  
She desperately hoped that he would be able to anyway!


	13. A star (to guide him home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Cormoran allay Venetia's fears?.....and will he tell her everything?

The new Brigadier was overnighting in the familiar inn at Newark, safe in the knowledge that he would return to his beloved wife when he woke.   
His belly was full, his backside and thighs were aching from so much time in the saddle, but he was only a day’s ride from home.

He slept soundly on the unfamiliar pillows, whereas his wife slept poorly in her more familiar surroundings which still held the scent of him.   
It had soothed her in the previous evenings and she had refused to permit his pillow slip to be changed when her own linens had been refreshed.   
However on this occasion the masculine scent seemed to mock her.

Ilsa Herbert slept equally poorly in her comfortable guest chamber.   
Her thoughts returned again and again to the information they had overheard.   
She could foresee an occasion where Lady Charlotte Campbell had happened to be attending the same gathering as him, but it was far more difficult to fathom why on earth he had placed himself in a position of being alone with her….for that would appear to be the only explanation for Lady Charlotte’s indiscretion about the feel of his body.

Oh how she hated tattling, gossiping, silly women!

She sighed and prayed silently that he would be able to explain everything upon his return.

Venetia paced uneasily for most of the day.   
She ate very little, having no appetite and the inch or so of needlework she completed would need entirely unpicking due to twisted threads and missed stitches.

Ilsa had received a letter from her own husband, delivered initially to their home near Bradford, but brought on by their footman along with a small additional trunk for her comfort.  
The contents of the note were unspectacular given the unpleasant nature of the overheard discussion in the tearooms.   
Nicholas informed her that he had enjoyed meeting the Colonel and that they had enjoyed a ‘merry time’ in the city, and that the Colonel had enjoyed an unexpected surprise at the barracks.  
His words on this occasion did not comfort her.

She found a clearly agitated Venetia Strike in her sitting room. The sunken eyes of the heavily pregnant lady were at odds with their usual sparkle and vivacity, but she regarded her friend questioningly as she entered the room.  
“I’m afraid it doesn’t contain any information which might assuage our concerns, dearest. You must await the Colonel and ask him,” Ilsa explained, sitting beside Venetia and taking her hand in her own with a reassuring squeeze.  
Venetia nodded, “ I shall ask him upon his return….and until then I shall try to consider that there has been some error in what Lady Sarah spoke of…I am sure that I believe what he says far more than anything uttered from her mouth.”

Mrs Herbert requested a bath mid afternoon, tactfully hoping it would coincide with the arrival of the Colonel in order that husband and wife could have their conversation in some degree of privacy.  
Indeed at around 4 o’clock or a little after there was a barking of dogs and a clattering of hooves on the gravel, swiftly followed by a booming, deep rumble of masculine voices and a slightly uneven tread as the master enquired as to the whereabouts of his wife and made his way hastily upstairs to their chamber where he had been informed she was resting.

His heart and loins naturally considered that she would be waiting for him and he managed the long, sweeping staircase with considerably fewer strides than would have been the case had she been out riding or walking!  
He loosened his scarf and waistcoat buttons having already discarded his cloak, gloves and hat, and restrained himself from flinging open the door to his wife, and since her establishment at Tabley, his own bed chamber.

The room was dimly lit by the glowing fire and a few candles and he could make out her curled but recumbent form stretched out on their bed; her stockinged feet peeking out from beneath a heavily stitched coverlet.   
He smiled at the sight of her rounded belly and hand encircling and resting there; the slim gold band of her wedding ring the only adornment necessary to render her more beautiful in his eyes.

Dipping his face down he softly connected his lips with the smooth skin of her cheek, noting with some alarm that she appeared paler, and her eyes somewhat sunken.  
She stirred and cast out her hand against the pillow as his lips peppered her face and finally her lips with delicate kisses.  
Opening her eyes he saw them finally twinkling back at him, although he was startled by the fact that they appeared on the verge of tears.

“My darling. I am so sorry to have been away from you for so long. Let me remember what it is like to kiss you, my dearest love, I have missed you so very much,” he stated, caressing his fingertips and knuckles against the line of her jaw, the soft skin visible at her neck and across her hands.

She initially accepted his passion, but after issuing a groaning whimper pushed him away, noticing the expression of confusion on his face.

“I must ask you. You will answer me honestly?” she asked, and his open, nodding response reassured her as she queried him. “Is there anything you wish to tell me about your stay in London?”

He exhaled and flexed his neck as his eyes fluttered closed and Venetia realised she was holding her breath as he peered into her eyes.  
“My dearest there are two things I need to relate to you, one which is of considerably more weight and pleasure than the other,” he leaned in to kiss her again but was once more thwarted by her gentle pressure on his chest.  
“Very well….I attended a dinner at the barracks, as I’m sure you would imagine, but unfortunately I was required to accompany someone whom I would much rather have not had to spend time with, especially without you there, my love,” he regarded her eyes and recognised a look of love and clarity, almost understanding flashing behind them.

“Go on, tell me everything, please don’t fear that I cannot stomach unhappiness…I have more than enough stomach, as you can see!” she smiled, adoringly as he dropped his palms to caress their growing child and pressed a sweet kiss above her petticoats.

“It was Lady Charlotte Campbell. I’m so sorry my darling, she and I were the only unaccompanied pair, General Galbraith requested that I take her into dine and I was seated beside her. I hope that I needn’t assure you that nothing transpired of which I should be ashamed, although she attempted to engage me in a ridiculous folly by pressing her hand against me beneath the table,” he stroked his nose against Venetia’s scalp, filling his senses with the sweet aroma of roses and lavender. “Needless to say I returned her palm to her own lap and after the ladies had retired I enjoyed the gentlemen’s company and left before she had a chance to make any further demands of me, and exhibition of herself.” 

Venetia sighed and slumped against the comforting broad, firmness of her husband’s chest, “I’m glad that you told me, and I’m sure you were nothing but chivalrous. My only jealousy is in that she was able to be in your company whilst I was alone here and merely thinking about you,” and she relented in allowing him to plunder her mouth at last with his hot, needy tongue.

On this occasion it was he who pushed back from her, breathlessly gasping, “But I haven’t told you the more pleasurable news. You are now married to a Brigadier,” he smiled, affecting a purposefully smug expression as Venetia squealed and showered his face with playful kisses.

“Cormoran, my darling! I’m so proud of you…..oh…..but you’re no longer my Colonel,” she pouted, some of the pretty colour returning to her cheeks.

“No…you shall have to get used to calling me your Brigadier from now on, although it will only be official upon my return to the barracks at Catterick….there is a small ceremony involved, so until then you very much have YOUR Colonel back,” and he kissed her deeply.


	14. A comfortable stable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it couldn't all be wrapped up so neatly so soon!  
Some hinted at deliciousness between the Brigadier and Venetia....and the return of Matthew!

Ilsa appeared for dinner and noticed that neither the Colonel nor Venetia were ready or present in the parlour which she hoped was a positive sign and that everything had been explained and reconciled between them.  
She took the glass of sherry offered to her by Hathrill and used the time to complete a further chapter of a novel she had borrowed from the Strikes’ extensive and varied library. 

A short while later she became aware of hushed, comfortable voices and by and by was joined by the Colonel and Venetia, arm in arm and seemingly as besotted with each other as they had always been.

“Mrs Herbert, how good of you to keep Venetia company while I have been away. Unfortunately, other than your own husband’s companionship I have been less lucky with my choice of dining partners,” and he reacquainted himself with her using one of his characteristic curt bows and raising her hand to his lips.

“Sadly the direction of a General is an order that cannot be ignored, even if it means accompanying one of the most unladylike ladies of society throughout a meal!” Venetia twinkled, her eyes on Ilsa reflecting that he had indeed explained everything to her satisfaction.

Cormoran cleared his throat and wishing to change the subject addressed Ilsa, “Venetia tells me that you have accepted our wish to act as Godmother to our child. Your husband has naturally also agreed to take on the role of Godfather. We cannot imagine a more appropriate couple to entrust this role to.”  
Ilsa’s eyes became a little far away and misty briefly; she hoped that she would be able to repay the honour at some point in the future, but she would cherish Venetia and the Colonel’s child when it arrived.

Barclay came to inform them that dinner was served and the trio went through to the dining room where the table had been set comfortably, with only the fewest number of leaves to the table and all three place settings arranged at one end of the large oval.  
They feasted on some of the Colonel’s favourites; which was a feature often added by cook following his extended time away from home.  
A creamy soup of leeks and potatoes was followed by a meaty terrine filled with game and dried apricots.   
The fish course was fillets of sole in a cream sauce and steamed sorrel, and the main was an impressive rib of beef served with roasted parsnips, carrots and bread sauce.   
Dessert was a light souffle filled with blackberries from the summer glut which had been preserved in syrup.

They retired together to the parlour and passed a pleasant time discussing local politics and the forthcoming elections as well as Ilsa’s book, which it transpired all three had read, although Ilsa begged them not to give away the ending.   
The Colonel inhaled sharply when he discovered his own wife’s current reading material was Lysistrata and warned her to “not get any ideas!” from the play’s themes!

Cormoran was able to reassure Ilsa that her own husband was in good health and would be travelling north himself by now as his plan had been to leave two days after the Colonel.  
Between the pair of them they persuaded Ilsa to remain in their company and to send word to her own home so that Nicholas could join them there before they returned to their smart house near Bradford together.

In bed that evening Ilsa Herbert slept significantly more soundly than the previous evening; and the knowledge that she would be reunited with her own husband shortly was soothing.

Venetia and Cormoran dismissed their staff and undressed each other, glorying in the feel of their hands and lips against the thickly furred or silken skin of each other's bodies.

They were unhurried in their love making with soft, tender touches replacing the frenzied fervour of some of their encounters.   
Cormoran instinctively felt that his wife’s body had expanded further in his absence, and didn’t wish to harm her, and rather than lever himself above her, created a nest of pillows for her to recline against whilst he worshipped her with his lips and tongue before being brought to his own realm of ecstasy by her small but talented palm.

Afterwards, breathless and glowing with exertion, he nestled her languid body against his own broad firmness.  
“Do you find me deserving of my new rank, madam?” he asked, nuzzling his lips against her slightly damp temple.

His wife gave a delightful moan as she stroked her fingertips against his dark forearms, adjusting them slightly so that they didn’t press against her tender and enlarged breasts, “I’m not sure what you deserve after that….Sir! But I am pleased to have been pleasured by the talented skills of a Brigadier…..if you are anything like as skilful at combat then I would say you most definitely deserve your promotion,” and giggling together he created a cave-like cocoon with the linen covers before showering her with tender, blissfully happy kisses as she fell asleep in his arms.

Meanwhile, Nicholas Herbert was less happily overnighting at an inn.   
The general rowdiness from the main downstairs chamber appeared to be getting louder, and he could hear the raucous voice of his unexpected, and very much unwanted travelling companion. 

Matthew De Cunliffe had requested his company and generosity upon hearing of his plans to travel north.   
The request had been made in general company, and Nicholas had been unable to turn down the request, especially when De Cunliffe had snarled his lip and hissed a comment about ‘the many delights of London being something perhaps they should both be severed from.’

Nicholas Herbert despised the fact that De Cunliffe had this moment of his own stupidity and folly to dangle over him like a noose and had endured the man’s simpering and bawdy comments throughout the journey so far, although he had thankfully fallen asleep during most of the journey that day.   
He appeared lively and awake enough now however, and Nicholas Herbert pressed his pillow to his ears in an attempt to blot out the noise.  
He consoled himself with the fact that they had made good time and were half way home.


	15. A Christmas greetings card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly bitty chapter with mundane business at Tabley whilst Nicholas endures the company of Matthew De Cunliffe on his journey homeward.  
And a bit more Shanker-ness.

Thursday dawned bright and clear; one of those winter mornings that made Venetia long to be able to ride again, but even she had submitted to her husband on this matter when he had forbade her once her riding habit could no longer be fastened!

Ilsa Herbert and the Strikes enjoyed a hearty breakfast, the ‘for the time being’ Colonel expressed his need to visit Cattrick in order to check on a few details and both ladies decided to join him. There were some pleasant stores, including a particularly fine fabric merchant and numerous good quality tearooms for them to enjoy whilst the military man attended to his business.  
Strike summoned Barclay to ensure that the carriage rather than his horse was made ready, and he made his way upstairs to dress; Shanker was waiting for him having started to prepare the military uniform which his master had already informed him would be his dress for the day.

“I’m using the carriage, so I’ll use the other breeches….the slimmer fitting ones in the finer cloth,” he indicated as Shanker assisted loosening his cravat and sliding his waistcoat from his shoulders.  
“Very good Sir, I’ll get those steamed out while you shave shall I?” he gruffly stated, moving efficiently around the Colonel’s dressing room and hanging garments in various wooden cupboards.

In the adjacent room Venetia was being assisted by Alice to change her gown for one more suited to outdoors.   
She sat patiently whilst her hair was rearranged so that she could more easily wear the deep green coloured bonnet which would match her pelisse.

Along the corridor at the other side of the house Rose was assisting Mrs Herbert similarly, and her heavier weight gown looked fine indeed beneath the black and white herringbone pelisse.   
Her own neat bonnet of black velvet with a ruffled, crimson coloured satin crown looked very pretty atop her blonde curls.

The journey to Catterick was uneventful and passed quickly given the easy company the trio shared.   
Cormoran made his goodbyes to Mrs Herbert and Venetia as he alighted the carriage at the barracks and cheekily requested that Ilsa attempt to keep his wife’s spending in check with a wolfish smirk as he settled his tall hat on his unruly, dark curls and strode with his usual uneven gait into the building which was now so familiar to him.

The ladies were taken into the centre of the town and set down close to one of the tearooms they had previously frequented, and despite her size and the numerous glances towards her, Venetia enjoyed the fresh air and general activity of the town.  
They took tea and enjoyed the selection of toasted teacakes, buttered muffins and fancy cakes which were offered before slowly walking the short distance to their favoured store where they spent a happy time selecting fabrics for new gowns which Venetia would require after the birth, and for new servants uniforms for the Herbert’s household.  
During their time together Venetia was able to explain to Ilsa some of the details her husband had provided her with relating to the whole Lady Charlotte Campbell affair.  
Mrs Herbert was satisfied that her friend was reassured, and felt altogether more relaxed about the Colonel’s behaviour in London.   
She was thankful that she had never needed to worry about her own husband’s behaviour - they had known each other since Ilsa had come out and had become romantically linked since her first season – and she knew he had no foolish trysts in his past.

The journey of Nicholas Herbert was less pleasant, both in terms of company and ease – Matthew De Cunliffe had been late to rise and in a foul mood when he had staggered and slumped himself into the carriage.   
After only a short section on a particularly rutted road they had been required to pause in order for him to purge himself beside an obliging tree, and slightly further along their journey they had needed a second impromptu stop when he had once more needed to deal with bodily functions which were distressing to both nose and ear.  
They had therefore lost the time they had gained on the previous day, leaving Nicholas tired and frustrated upon reaching an inn which was unfamiliar to him and which they had drawn up at significantly later than was polite.  
Matthew De Cunliffe had made no attempt to ingratiate himself with the proprietors, and the meal which was begrudgingly served to them was dry and somewhat tasteless.   
The saving grace as his head rested on the pillow however was that he would be home the following day…..although quite how he was going to shake the attention of Matthew De Cunliffe was another matter!

Friday morning was another crisp, wintery day with staff at Tabley beginning to consider preparations for Christmas, although everything was almost on hold until the new member of the Strike family arrived, and with the mistress only due in early December there were still 5 weeks or so to go.  
Hatherill had however instructed the household staff to begin the more complex cleaning jobs, including polishing several of the chandeliers and making a start on the brasswork which was liberally sprinkled throughout the large house.

The ‘still as yet’ Colonel Strike manoeuvred himself around the hunched shapes of several servants as they dutifully scrubbed at the brass rails of the stair carpets. 

Dressed in more traditional, ‘at home’ attire he ate breakfast alone whilst Venetia enjoyed a little additional sleep – although she had enjoyed her time out of the house the previous day she was exhausted and had fallen asleep even before he had joined her in bed.

He sorted his post – a great deal of which had amassed in his absence.   
Most was business related, but he spent a pleasing time reading the news his Aunt had sent from Cornwall, and he hoped that he would be able to take his wife and their child there later next year.  
He had received notification from Nicholas Herbert which caused him to furrow his brow and groan.   
His friend had sent a letter posted upon his departure from London informing him that in all likelihood Matthew De Cunliffe would be accompanying him upon his arrival at home.  
Although Strike was grateful for the warning he despised De Cunliffe.   
The fact that he’d had a prior connection to Venetia not with standing he found the fact that De Cunliffe was their MP almost intolerable and had thus far never invited him to any of their dinner parties or gatherings, although that hadn’t prevented him turning up to several.

Mrs Herbert had already sent word to their home to explain that Nicholas was to join them at Tabley in order to accompany her homewards…..potentially this meant a further interaction with the odious man…..and which he needed to advise some of his staff about.  
He rang for Shanker (it was Barclay who answered the bell, but swiftly returned to the servant’s hall following his master’s blunt request)   
Although Shanker was seldom seen in any of the rooms other than the Colonel’s own, he had knowledge of De Cunliffe which had so far been kept tightly guarded within Tabley, and the rest of the servants understood the close bond between the master and his valet.   
Cormoran paced in his study while he waited, finally coming to rest beside the window with it’s peaceful and pretty prospect towards the small park and woods of the estate.

“Barclay said you wan’ed me, Sir?” Shanker’s gruff voice sounded behind him having soundlessly entered the room.

Strike turned and addressed him, pain flashing behind his narrowed eyes, “I have reason to believe that Mr De Cunliffe may well be a visitor at Tabley later today. You know that I have tried to limit his attendance here following what occurred last year,” he faced Shanker directly as he continued, “I would like you to tactfully inform Alice and Rose again, if at all possible give Rose the rest of the day off just to be on the safe side….I believe she has family locally?”

Shanker nodded, his lips pressed together, his cheeks sucked in as his mind flew back to the unfortunate events in the downstairs corridor which had resulted in him receiving a bullet wound as he fought off De Cunliffe’s attempts to interfere with poor, young Rose.  
“If you’ll excuse me, Sir I’ll arrange it now. Shall I use the same excuse as last time for the uvver staff?” he asked, cocking his head slightly and nodding back at his master’s tightly nodding neck.

“And Shanker…..it would probably be wise to keep a low profile yourself…….no sense risking a potentially taxing interaction,” Strike voiced, raising his eyebrows at the shorter man’s returned glare.

“Credit me wiv’ a little more control, Sir,” Shanker retorted.

His master smirked, “Oh I have a healthy regard for your control, Shanker……I could easily see you beating him to a bloodied pulp without breaking a sweat….but we’ve managed to keep most of his unpleasantness under wraps, which is definitely beneficial to my name and Rose’s reputation….I don’t see the sense in risking that if the odious man attempts to rile you.”

Shanker knew better than to argue with his master and numbly agreed that he would remain below stairs, or attend to his master in his dressing room and nothing more, feigning a slight cold if pressed into further service by Hatherill.


	16. A pile of prickling holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas arrives at Tabley with his unwelcome guest, who whilst avoiding any unpleasantness at Tabley manages to stir up a storm of scandal with a certain Lady Sarah.  
Rather than tell the truth about the encounter in London, clearing the names of the Brigadier and Nicholas Herbert he instead chooses to throw them under the bus!!!! (so to speak!)

Later in the morning the ‘as yet unannounced’ Brigadier found his wife seated in her parlour chatting and discussing the details of the proposed New Year’s party with Mrs Herbert.  
“My dear, I have reason to believe that Mr Herbert’s arrival will also bring Mr De Cunliffe back to Tabley. Your husband has informed me in a brief note that our local MP requested his generosity in enabling him to return to his constituency; no doubt to try to win favour for the forthcoming elections,” he noticed his wife’s fingers tightened around the inkpen in her hand.

“Then I shall summon cook and ensure we have a decent dinner planned,” she regarded the slightly puzzled glances of her husband and friend, “If his mouth is full he’ll be less able to spout his appalling opinions!” she flashed an arch-browed grin which made Ilsa stifle a chuckle and her husband instantly wish that they were alone.

“In that case, tell cook to make steak and kidney pudding…..poor Nicholas has had to endure his company for 3 days straight; at least we can give the poor man his favourite meal!” and he made excuses before leaving their company and making a visit to the stableyard where his page had requested he look over a potential new candidate for the stables.

As it transpired he liked the look of the grey; it was a good height and sturdy looking.   
His own preferred black mare was still a reliable mount, but with his increased journeys to London and back he had asked for feelers to be put out for a further horse which might be alternated to suit his purpose.  
He gave permission for finances to be made available and the purchase to go ahead before retiring inside to join Ilsa and Venetia for tea.  
He made Venetia retire to her room to rest before dinner, made easier by Mrs Herbert stating a desire to do similar and spent a couple of hours on more correspondence before checking his gold, pocket watch.

Meanwhile the carriage carrying Nicholas Herbert and a sullen Matthew De Cunliffe had detoured away from Harrogate and was heading instead towards Tabley – a route Matthew was familiar with.  
Word had been sent to their last coaching point where the horses had been changed for the final part of their journey. 

He had informed rather than asked De Cunliffe if the slight alteration to their journey was acceptable, but the MP was now glaring out at the darkness beyond the carriage; his mind was filled with the knowledge that he would be forced to revisit the scene of his double humiliation.   
Firstly in the events which had occurred below the stairs with a silly servant girl and secondly, more importantly, in the recognition that the master of Tabley had managed to secure the hand and heart of the woman he had attempted a prior claim to.

Her initial acceptance of his hand had been quashed when her father had refused, although the timing of his refusal had coincided rather nicely with the Colonel’s move towards the then Miss Ellacott.

Matthew remained unmarried.  
Which for an MP was not ideal.

His choice of potential wife however had met with rejection from fathers on more than one occasion; his attentions were either not returned; or he was not considered compatible with the family; or in the case of his letter requesting the right to pursue Lady Sarah Shadlock, not considered wealthy or titled enough.

A reminder of the marital bliss of one of his previous choices was not high on his list of pleasant ways to end the evening….but he was low on funds, and a carriage conveying him almost to his home, or at least to a hot meal would have to suffice.

The carriage clattered across the gravel driveway of Tabley at around 6 o’clock, meaning that they would have enough time to refresh themselves before dinner.  
It also brought the return of Thomas who had accompanied Mr Herbert and brought his master’s luggage back from his own recent visit to the city.

Strike flicked his tongue around his teeth and cleared his throat before adjusting the sleeves of his jacket and greeting first his old friend, Nicholas, with a warm handshake and clasp to his shoulder. He then gave a curt nod of his head towards Mr De Cunliffe.   
Despite his position as MP in the north, where his voters were almost all industrial men he had not managed to adopt the handshake as a greeting.

“Mr De Cunliffe, you are of course welcome to join us for dinner if you wish, or alternatively I can happily ask the driver to escort you to you home….or wherever else you may choose to visit,” he gave a purposeful glare from beneath his hooded green eyes as he spoke and to his credit Matthew took the hint, although if truth be told he was grateful for the option to remove himself.

“If that wouldn’t be considered rude I would very much like to return to my own home. Are you certain your guests would not be aggrieved?” he asked.

The newly appointed Brigadier curbed his desire to laugh outloud, “I’m sure that they will understand given that they have endured lengthy journeys themselves. Please, think nothing of it,” and he turned his attention to the driver, giving instructions to ensure that Mr De Cunliffe be taken where he wished to go.

He found Nicholas Herbert in the hallway, removing his gloves and hat.

“Has he gone?” Nicholas asked, smiling broadly at his friend’s nod. “I shouldn’t be so smug, but the man has been an annoyance all the way home…..and of course you can imagine how he wangled the seat in my carriage?”  
Cormoran nodded gravely, “It is certainly displeasing to have a man such as him able to hold something so corrupt above us; you in particular.”

“I have reflected on what took place, and I’ve decided that I shall tell Mrs Herbert everything that transpired once we are back in our own home. I would feel happier knowing that I have been honest with her,” Nicholas stated.  
“Then in that case I shall fill in Ventetia’s queries which I have no doubt will arise once the pair have discussed it between themselves…..we can certainly have no secrets once our wives get involved….although their discussions thankfully have a somewhat calming effect rather than resulting in hysteria!” Cormoran added, smirking as he indicated the staircase in order to accompany his friend to the rooms which had been allocated to them.

Matthew De Cunliffe was deposited at his townhouse where he noticed a number of cards had been left, including one from Lady Sarah Shadlock.   
She was clearly in town and always made for jolly company!

He barked a serious of offhanded directions to his staff and retired up to his dressing room to bathe, redress and make himself ready to meet with Lady Sarah having sent out the houseboy to drop a note to her temporary residence when she was in the north.

He adjusted his white, silk cravat as he strode towards the imposing building which Lady Sarah had very much taken over in its entirety.   
She always hated the ‘boredom’ outside of London society and filled her home with anyone who would amuse her. On this particular evening there were at least 60 or so people; mainly young and loud; all dressed in the latest fashions, and some of the ladies, including Lady Sarah sporting almost obscenely low cut gowns.  
Matthew was announced and made his way directly towards the blonde, bobbing curls of Lady Sarah and greeted her with a leering and slightly prolonged kiss to her ungloved hand.

“Mr De Cunliffe, how delightful to find you here in the grim northern climes…..find yourself some wine and then come and find me……I have the most delicious scandal involving Colonel Strike to tell you about!” she cackled, fanning her decollete and making the creamy mounds of her breasts tremble.

Matthew dragged his eyes and slightly drooling mouth away in order to greet several more acquaintances before snatching a goblet of claret from a passing tray and making his way through several rooms, following the exuberant noise to locate Lady Sarah seated on a chaise, surrounded by the agog expressions of her doting inner circle.

“I tell you, it is all true…..I have it directly from Lady Charlotte Campbell…and here is, Mr De Cunliffe, I’m sure you will vouch for the fact that such places of disrepute are favoured by the militia!” she raised one of her haughty eyebrows and met his perplexed gaze.

“I am certain I shall be able to verify your observations my dear Lady Shadlock….but pray tell me of what I am vouching…and in relation to whom?” he grinned, slugging down his claret and reaching for a second glass from a sideboard.

“Colonel Strike of course, and his penchant for visiting certain…shall we call them residences, whilst he is in town without his grossly pregnant wife!” she stated, earning sharp intakes of breath all around from newcomers to the group and an almost choking swallow of wine from De Cunliffe.

His mind flashed back to that encounter with Strike, and the fact that he’d ended up sprawled across the floor with several resounding sniggers ringing in his ears from the regulars and Madam.   
He decided to make his comments purposefully vague until he had established exactly what Lady Charlotte Campbell had divulged or witnessed.

“And how would I be able to vouch for this fact?” he asked, trying to prevent his heart rate speeding up.

“Mr De Cunliffe, you know the city well enough to be able to certify the nature of the particular address our dear Colonel was seen stumbling out of with one of his chums……seen by none other than Lady Charlotte Campbell I might add, so hardly likely to have been invented!” Lady Sarah continued, smiling smugly at the sharp intake of breath and rumbling of voices from the mention of the well known beauty.

Matthew covered his breath of gratitude – he could take part in the gossip without involving himself in the Colonel’s shame….maybe he could even have a little fun of his own?......many would have seen him with Mr Herbert in the club……he could probably throw his name into the mud raking too!

“Well, if you would be so good as to whisper the address in question I could undoubtedly clarify the nature of the business involved I dare say!” he grinned, moving across to a giggling Lady Shadlock who beckoned him.

She whispered the details passed to her by Lady Charlotte, and whilst he felt a flutter of arousal caused by the proximity of her breath on his cheek, and the vision of creamy flesh down the neckline of her fine gown he still managed to withdraw in order to take centre stage for his ‘reveal’ to the agog crowd.

“Well, my dear Lady Sarah, I have to admit to a certain degree of disappointment in one of our supposed fine and upstanding members of society…..that address is indeed known for one form of entertainment, and only one! He will NOT have been taking part in a game of cards!” and he flashed a smug expression around at the stunned and blushing glances of the small group.

He continued, pacing slightly, knowing that Lady Sarah’s eyes were trailing his lithe form, “I must admit, that chap Nicholas Herbert was keeping me fine company at our club prior to meeting up with the Colonel….they have a close bond….and apparently we now know why they are so thick! Clearly they are covering for each other!”

Lady Sarah gave a squeal of delight and clapped her hands, “Oh Mr De Cunliffe! Are you implying that our own Mr Herbert was the other gentleman in question? Mr Herbert who acts so proper and refuses to deal with half of the investments that involve the slave trade, and by default most of the business I could benefit significantly from?” 

Matthew gave her a piercing stare, “I wouldn’t wish to implicate the man…..but who else could it have been?”

The evening then passed in a blur of claret, several games of cards, at which Matthew lost a significant amount of money and several stolen, flirtatious embraces with Lady Sarah.   
His request to pursue her had been flatly refused by her father…..but he could still have his fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a queue to punch Matthew and then Lady Sarah!  
Whilst waiting you turn feel free to boo and hiss!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing along with me : Sarah Shadlock is a cow, doo da, doo da, Sarah Shadlock is a cow, doo da doo da day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did look up what a Brigadier uniform might look like compared to a Colonel's.....the aiguillette was mentioned somewhere in my searches, so I added that.......it is one of those drapey ropes I think!

The following day Lady Sarah Shadlock woke late, and still suffering from a poor head which she claimed was due to the poor quality of refreshments served by her household staff rather than her own inability to moderate her alcohol intake.  
She’d enjoyed the gossip about Nicholas Herbert and Colonel Strike – it had irked her somewhat when Venetia Ellacott had married him and been paraded around the local newspapers for what felt like weeks, with every party and topic of conversation seeming to revolve around her beauty or manners.  
Her pregnancy had not dulled the clamour for stories or titbits of gossip surrounding her apparent saint-like status in town…..well, surely this new insight into her husband’s antics would go some way to rubbing off the shine of perfection?  
Maybe she would pay a visit to Tabley house…..pay her regards to Mrs Strike.  
She rang for her personal maid and gave blunt, clipped instructions to ready her a carriage and a suitable gown for visiting, and a few hours later she was making her way towards Tabley.

The same morning at the afore mentioned house Mr and Mrs Herbert had made their goodbyes and left the Strikes for their own modest home.  
The gentlemen had exchanged a rather lengthy and more closely guarded farewell than usual, but both ladies assumed it was due to either business or the new bond forged due to the impending role of the Herberts as Godparents to Baby Strike.

The gents were, of course, briefly discussing the fact that they would each ensure their wives was made aware of the whole debacle in London, omitting no details so as be sure neither woman could be surprised by the other at a later date.

Once they were alone in their home again Cormoran clasped Venetia’s hands, “My darling, I need to visit Catterick, but I shall be back this evening. I hope that we have no guests planned, I’d like us to have an opportunity to talk frankly about a few matters,” and he pressed his lips to her soft fingers.  
She sighed at the prickle of his moustache against her skin and tried to read his face.   
He didn’t seem unduly concerned or tense, so she assumed he wished to inform her about his promotion, maybe new details she would need to be mindful of as wife to a Brigadier, or maybe just details relating to the impending birth….maybe he would try to impose further restrictions on her activities!

She would indulge him…..and at least listen to his suggestions….before calmly informing him of what she would do regardless of his patriarchal demands!

Cormoran retired to dress in his military uniform in order to attend the barracks and Venetia retired to her parlour where she lay with her ankles raised on the chaise in order to finish the Aristophanes play which had amused her so much.

He found her before he left, and as always she sucked in her breath at how handsome her husband looked in his tight cream breeches and bright red jacket, the epaulettes adding further width to his already muscular shoulders and emphasising the slenderness of his waist.  
She reached up as he approached her, smiling as she set her book aside and flicking the gold of his shoulder additions as he bent over to kiss her forehead.

“Should I expect more of these? Or larger, more golden ones as befitting my husband the Brigadier?” she grinned.

He smirked back at her, “I shall have a double roped aiguillette rather than my single one….but other than that there is very little difference,” and he crouched slightly in order to deliver a searing, passionate kiss to her pouting lips. “I shall be back for dinner….and hopefully an indulgent early night so that my wife can show her brilliant Brigadier of a husband how proud she is of his achievements!”

She sighed and raised her eyebrow provocatively, “Hmmmmm….which gives me several hours in which I can plan an appropriate celebration….I shall get out my writing materials!”

“In which case I shall hurry back to you my dear," he murmured in his almost sinister, deep whispering growl.

He left for Catterick riding the new addition to his stables, the grey he had named Angus.

Having eaten her way through a platter of hot house pineapple, cherries and peaches - which her husband insisted on spending a small fortune on having heard that it would benefit her health and that of the unborn child - Venetia declined luncheon, preferring instead to rest a little, and hoping that she would have limited visitors, although her condition seemed to be attracting rather than deterring visitors for tea.

Upon rising at a little before 3pm she dressed in one of her day gowns which had been cleverly constructed to allow for her increasing size.   
It was a soft mauve colour with a visible underskirt of buttery coloured sateen which was heavily pleated to fall across her belly.   
The neckline was flattering, but not so low cut as to render her enlarged bustline the focus of ridicule due to the presence of a draped and softly pleated swathe of deeper plum coloured velvet which continued into an almost curtain effect of draped fabric at the back of the gown.

Alice styled her hair into a soft collection of curls and waves, fixing it in place with a piece of ribbon to match the velvet and added several pretty combs featuring pearls.  
Venetia’s skin was positively radiant, the additional weight she had gained thanks to her growing child had given further softness to her already creamy complexion, and as she made her way down the shallow stairs she felt comfortable with her appearance.

She had seated herself in her parlour, with all of the relevant accoutrements for tea handily within reach and was about to pour herself a cup from the heated, silver pot and relax against the sofa with her legs raised when she heard the distinctive ring of the door and heard Hatherill’s voice along with the higher tone of a female.

Damn!

Now she’d have to sit up properly and be sociable.

She puffed out her cheeks and laboriously adjusted herself to occupy the upholstered seat in a manner more suited to receiving company.  
Hatherill opened the door, silently, and made his announcement before moving aside to allow Lady Sarah Shadlock into the room.


	18. A bell (maybe ringing to signal distress!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This starts off with Lady Shadlock's visit.....she is as vile as you would imagine, but things quickly become much more serious and potentially traumatic.  
*Advance warning that this chapter and at least the next covers issues with childbirth. Please be warned and avoid until I post a 'warning over' note if you feel it will adversely affect you.

Having discarded her gloves, pelisse and bonnet Lady Sarah made her way straight across to Venetia; the soft, caramel coloured velvet of her gown rustling across the rug.  
“Please do not make yourself uncomfortable, my dear Mrs Strike, do remain seated. How remarkably well you look,” the blonde haired woman smiled, wrinkling her nose and casting a slightly horrified glance at Venetia’s rounded belly.

Venetia managed not to let the grimace of frustration show across her face.   
Lady Sarah Shadlock’s shrill but simpering voice was grating at the best of times!

“It is most kind of you to call, Lady Sarah. I believe you have recently been in London, as has my husband. Did you never cross paths with him at all?” Venetia asked as she busied herself pouring tea into the dainty cups beside her.

Lady Sarah almost squealed with delight at her opportunity to divulge her shocking and hurtful details being so quickly opened to her.

“I did not….although I am told he crossed the paths of several others whilst he was there,” she flashed a steely gaze at Venetia’s soft, grey eyes, watching carefully for signs of alarm and discomfort, but to her chagrin saw none.

Venetia handed across the cup and saucer and turned to her own, “My husband did mention that he had accompanied Lady Campbell to dine at the barracks….and of course, he is so obliging; one can only imagine the fracas which would have ensued had he not been in attendance. Shortbread?”

Lady Sarah absently slid one of the quite delectable rounds of crumbly, buttery biscuit from the offered plate and nibbled at the edge.   
Venetia calmly stirred her tea and took a sip, feeling decidedly uneasy about the bristling aura around her companion, but gathering that her awareness of what had undoubtedly been her gossiping business and reason for visiting had somewhat taken the wind from her sails.

However, Lady Sarah ploughed on, “Oh I’m sure his attentions towards her were nothing short of….gentleman-like, naturally,” and she placed what remained of the shortbread onto her saucer before she continued, “Of course, what transpired after his port and cigars was presumably less gentlemanly….although very definitely of a masculine nature!”

Venetia’s eyes narrowed briefly but she attempted to adopt a calm manner in order to tease out exactly what Lady Sarah was alluding to.

“I’m certain that he and Mr Herbert enjoyed the company of each other and their friends at his club, and frequently a little too much claret invariably leads to some rather raucous behaviour…..and after a lengthy journey I’m sure even the dullest of wives couldn’t deny their husband a few hours of amusement.”

Of course Venetia still hadn’t the faintest idea of what Lady Sarah was implying, but no doubt Nicholas and Cormoran had enjoyed a few drinks, or even a few games of cards at the club….maybe they’d even got a little drunk; especially if they’d been celebrating Nicholas Herbert’s acceptance of his impending role as godparent.

Lady Sarah Shadlock had always been jealous of Venetia Ellacott.   
Her amber coloured hair was infinitely more beautiful than her own blonde tresses; and her figure had always been admired – she seemed able to carry off gowns in a manner which was both alluring and yet never rendered her open to contempt by men.   
Whenever she had tried to copy these same necklines and shades of silk the effect had always been lacking by comparison.

And here she was, in her perfect home, with her radiant face and bountiful stomach….knowing nought of her husband’s indiscretions.  
She fingered the handle of her tea cup, “It is certainly very admirable and almost aristocratic that you allow him such freedom. I take it he only indulges his needs in London….I suppose there is too much risk using such places in Yorkshire.”

Venetia was now feeling decidedly on the back foot and pressed the other female further.

“I allow my husband to spend time with his friends at his will; and I certainly impose no restrictions upon his consumption of alcohol,” she replied curtly.

“Oh I was referring to his other predilection,” and she gave a coarse snigger. “Matthew De Cunliffe was able to verify the services offered behind the door which the Colonel was seen staggering away from with his chum in tow.”

Lady Sarah had drained her teacup and refused an offered refill, instead she placed it on the side table and smoothed out the fabric of her skirts as she made to stand.  
“I shan’t detain you any longer Mrs Strike, you look so very tired suddenly,” and with a withering look of amused victory at the slightly crumpled expression on Venetia’s face she stood and made her exit.

Venetia remained on the chaise vainly trying to piece together the information the blasted woman had just shared.

What on earth was she referring to?   
And what was Matthew De Cunliffe’s connection?   
How was he involved in all of this unsavoury sounding business?  
And why had her husband not mentioned anything to her?  
They had no secrets?  
Or at least so she thought?

She could still hear Lady Sarah in the hallway, presumably arranging her bonnet and other pieces of clothing, and she found herself pushing herself up and crossing the room more quickly than was wise given her condition.

Her foot caught under the richly patterned rug and with a shrill exclamation of shock and pain she tumbled forwards, catching herself against an upholstered chair before she landed in a heap on the floor.

The scene went unobserved and unnoticed by Hatherill as he assisted their visitor into her carriage and then moved swiftly to deal with the arrival of his master.   
His silhouette on horseback was quite distinctive, even from a distance, and the elderly, but efficient butler was able to use the short period of time to instruct Barclay to have an additional cup sent into the parlour by Rose when she cleared.

He was back at the doorway as the newly appointed Brigadier drew up.   
The additional gilt swag to his uniform was evident and Hatherill knew instantly the significance, taking pride in the associated glory for himself and his staff.

In the parlour Venetia was trying, unsuccessfully to drag herself from the floor onto the chair beside her.   
There was a sharp, incredibly piercing pain in her back and belly and glancing down she could see blood seeping through the fabric of her skirt.  
“No, no, not now….it’s too early….not now,” she mumbled, between sharp intakes of breath and hissed cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry!!!  
I can almost hear the communal scream.


	19. A host of Angels (gathering around Mary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trauma of that early onset labour begins....but our Brigadier is on hand to sort everything out.....and with Shanker as his right hand man what could go wrong?  
****I know that our Brigadier rushing off to her parents seems a little uncaring, but I needed a way of keeping him out of the actual delivery - because Cormoran would WANT to, but back in the Regency period he just wouldn't have been involved......so I gave him a job to do instead!***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, but things could be a bit hit and miss for the next few days owing to the fact that I am off to France for some shopping!  
I am currently in Sittingbourne having almost paddled the final 30 miles due to torrential rain and almost no visibility.

“Welcome home Brigadier Strike. You will find Mrs Strike through in the parlour, she has just finished a visit with a Lady Sarah Shadlock,” Hatherill stated as his master swung himself down from the grey steed, patting it’s flank appreciatively with his gloved hand before yanking the leather items from his hands, eager to make himself presentable for his wife’s company as rapidly as possible.

His uneven footsteps were audible on the chequered tiles of the hallway and Venetia tried to shout out to him, but instead groaned loudly as a spasm of pain shot through her.  
Cormoran heard the muffled noise as he opened the door.

“Venetia? Where…..Oh good God!”

He swooped down to her and simultaneously shouted for help as he cupped her damp cheeks with his warm, strong hands.

“Darling…..what happened? Is it the baby?” he asked helplessly.

Venetia clasped her hand around her belly and gritted her teeth as she squeezed onto her husband’s arm and nodded, managing to stammer, “I tripped….I……oh it hurts.”

Cormoran’s eyes took in the pool of red moisture visible lower on her dress, and also the anguish in his wife’s face as she fought back tears.  
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.

“Darling, don’t…..don’t fret. Try to calm your breathing….take some deep breaths, it will help with the pain,” he stated, kissing his lips against her moist temples and hair, his mind flashing straight back to the pain he had suffered on the battlefield and during subsequent attempts to rectify the state of his leg.

Rose and Alice appeared as well as Mrs Helseth; Hatherill had hastily retreated and sent for them upon glancing into the parlour and taking in the scene.

“Madam? We should try to get you onto the chair at least. Be brave, take a deep breath and we will assist you,” Mrs Helseth’s calm but authoritative voice cut through the strained atmosphere between the crumpled couple.

The Brigadier seemed to take notice of her clear instruction; it appealed to his military background, and he instantly rearranged his balance and arms in order to effectively support Venetia.   
Rose and Alice went to the opposite side of their mistress and when she signalled with a slight nod the trio helped her to her feet briefly before Mrs Helseth effectively pushed the chair beneath her allowing Venetia to sink onto the seat, gasping and panting.

“Now then, Sir, it would be better if you left us….”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll leave!” he retorted sharply.

But the housekeeper continued in an equally firm manner, “Sir, it would be more beneficial to your wife if you arranged for the doctor, and possibly her mother to be sent for…..and then by all means come and see how she fares.”

The Brigadier nodded lightly, although his wife was still clutching his hand as if she was unable to let go.  
Alice noticed his quandary, “If you please, Sir, these things can happen so close to a confinement…..and they often come to nothing once the initial shock has passed.”

It was Venetia herself who, now more comfortably seated, and the pain having either subdued or her tolerance to it increased made the decision for him.

“Dearest…..a medical expert would certainly ease my discomfort…..go, and come back once you have given your directions if you wish,” she instructed, and released his hand.

Alice was in the process of lifting Venetia’s ankles gently onto a footstool and he assumed would want to make some observation of his wife’s intimate region which he could neither assist in nor expedite.   
He therefore kissed his wife as tenderly as he could, given their far from private and intimate situation and strode back into the hallway, where Hatherill, Barclay and Shanker were clustered together awaiting further instruction.

He gave a whispered, brief instruction to Shanker who nodded and gave a mumbled, “Right!” before sprinting out of the main door towards the stables.

“Barclay, get Thomas and wait here. Do whatever the ladies instruct and as soon as the doctor arrives make sure he is taken immediately to Mrs Strike,” he stated, running his hand across his stubbled chin, the rasping sound echoing around the highly polished wood and marble of the hall.  
His mind was rapidly trying to rationalise the events and what he could do which would be beneficial to the situation.   
He knew that Shanker on horseback would ensure that the medical aide arrived swiftly; he could send one of the stableboys towards Keighley for Venetia’s mother, but he also knew that if he took his own mount and went across the country he’d be faster at getting word to them, they could return in a carriage and he could gallop across the fields and be back probably only a short while after the doctor arrived.  
His reticence however was whether he could risk abandoning his wife when she was in so much discomfort.   
Nevertheless he gave quick instructions for his black mare to be saddled and for his riding cloak and gloves to be prepared.

He strode back into the parlour, pausing briefly as he saw Alice nestled between Venetia’s splayed, naked thighs, her bloodied skirts raised to her hips.  
Venetia appeared calmer, and although there was a sheen of sweat across her forehead the wincing, pained expression from slightly earlier had diminished.

“My dearest…..the physician is on his way….I’m going to get your mother myself….or would you prefer I stay?” he was crouched beside her, grasping her hand in his strong, warm ones.  
Rose and Mrs Helseth were manoeuvring a further footstool across, in order to support their mistress’s foot, the Brigadier was currently occupying the most suitable location for the item.  
Venetia could see the predicament and much as she loved her husband and trusted him to ensure her safety in life, at this moment he appeared simply to be an obstacle.

“Husband, there will be little anyone can do until the doctor arrives, and I would feel much happier knowing that you were the one bringing my mother to me. But…..don’t take too long,” and she squeezed his hands and tilted her face so that he could deliver a sweet, relatively chaste kiss on her lips before she pressed her lips together as a further spasm of pain wracked through her.

Alice gave him a reassuring tweak of her lips, “Don’t worry Sir, it’s stopped for now, “ she indicated the patches of blood on his wife’s petticoat.  
He gave a brisk nod, telling himself that he should approach this entire situation as if it were a military manoeuvre…..but none of his experiences on the battlefield had invoked such strong emotions and pulls on his heartstrings as the sight of his beloved wife trying to compose her features and wipe the fear and trepidation from her eyes.

“I shall be away as little time as necessary,” he added, before pressing a further kiss to his wife’s head and making his way out into the hallway where Thomas was standing holding the garments he had requested.

The rest of his clothing was highly appropriate for riding, given that he’d been attending the barracks, so he threw on his cloak and fastened it securely around his chest, moving to the gravel driveway as he pulled on his gloves and one of the stableboys brought round his hastily saddled mare.  
Hoisting himself into the saddle he adjusted his reins and right foot in the stirrups and gave a brief glance towards the glowing light of the parlour where he noticed Mrs Helseth was drawing the drapes before giving a brusque “Yaaah!” to spur his mount into a rapid gallop.

Back in the parlour Venetia was quiet, but scared.   
The baby was still at least 4 weeks away from being due, and the fall which had brought her to the floor had been quite brutal and jarring, even without the added burden of her pregnancy.  
The sharp pains which had been almost constant when she was still slumped on the floor had become less prevalent, but she was still experiencing piercing pains which seemed to emanate from her spine and travelled sharply around to engulf her entire torso and belly.  
She could see the concerned glances between Alice and Mrs Helseth.   
Alice had assisted delivering several of her older sister’s children and Mrs Helseth, although childless herself (the use of the title Mrs was purely professional as she had remained unmarried) had also assisted in delivering several babies in her time.

“Now that my husband has gone tell me truthfully……am I in danger?” Venetia asked as calmly as she could.

It was Alice’s broad accent which cut through the strained pause, “It’s early for the baby, Madam…..but I can’t see anymore blood, so that’s ‘mebee a good thing.”  
Mrs Helseth nodded, “What is the pain like? Is it constant or is it periodic?”

Venetia winced as a further spasm of pain triggered in her spine and she clasped the arm of the chair until it subsided, “It was constant after I fell, but now it seems to be coming and going.”

Mrs Helseth and Alice nodded together and the older lady drew out her pocket watch, “In that case, Madam, if you would be so good as to indicate when these pains arrive and pass I shall time them, so as to be able to give the physician the best possible information upon his arrival.”

Venetia nodded, and for the next 40 minutes she indicated the onset and waning of each pain….pains which all three females recognised to be likely the onset of the mistress’s labour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the doctor will arrive tomorrow.....with a little nod to Poldark!!!


	20. Three wise men travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the whole labour/pregnancy story.  
A nod to my favourite Poldark character, and shout out to ZoeSongs who supplied some very useful website links for research into Regency medicine/birthing methods - I decided against an accoucheur....but fab word!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three wise men from the chapter title in my mind are of course Cormoran, Shanker and Dr Enys!!

Shanker had ridden like a man demented across the countryside, jumping hedges and fences with abandon in order to reach the small town and address of the closest medical professional whom was already aware of Mrs Strike’s condition, having attended to her throughout her pregnancy.  
His pounding on the door was met with alarm, as was his defiance of social niceties when he pushed past the manservant and followed his ears towards the noise in the parlour.

Dr Enys was young to the profession; tall, slender and blond haired.   
His practice in the town was blossoming due to his skill of listening acutely to his patients and reading widely into the most recent ideas and discoveries in medicine.  
His butler bustled behind Shanker who was panting and sweating as he removed his felt hat.

Dr Enys’s guests drew back from the intrusion, but the young doctor instantly recognised the behaviour of someone who was seeking either advice or aide.  
“May I help you?” he addressed Shanker, and then addressed his butler, “Fetch this man a mug of ale.”

Shanker was suddenly aware of his surroundings and saw the various seated and standing individuals dressed in their finery, apparently awaiting dinner in the company of the popular medical man.

“I beg your pardon, ladies…..I wouldn’tve intruded so impropa’ like but it’s the mistress at Tabley,” Shanker stammered.

Dr Enys was instantly placing down his glass of sherry and moving across to Shanker, shifting him further away from his guests but using a kindly manner.  
“Is she having labour pains?” he enquired.  
Shanker shrugged and explained quickly what had transpired and his haste at being sent to fetch him.  
The doctor nodded and accompanied Shanker into the small foyer of his home, “And you came on horseback across country?” he asked as he gave a rapid instruction for his own riding coat and boots to be brought.  
Shanker gave his affirmative response as the doctor mumbled something about ‘taking too long to saddle and prepare his own horse’ before disappearing into one of the downstairs rooms and returning shortly afterwards clutching a leather holdall.

He was assisted in changing his shoes for the riding boots, his evening trousers tucked as efficiently as possible into the leather.  
Shanker watched the process and gathered from the relative calmness of everyone that these intrusions into his home and schedule were a common occurrence and felt more comfortable about his manner of abruptly gaining access to the property.

The doctor had his fine, grey frock coat removed and replaced with a much thicker weight, dark green woollen riding coat and addressed Shanker once more,  
“I take it your mount will support us both for the return? And you’ll be able to manage the journey with my added weight in the dark?”  
Shanker nodded and replaced his hat, “Certainly, Dr. I’m a very capable 'orseman, Sir….you’ll be safe in my ‘ands.”

The doctor addressed his butler and requested that he serve dinner and attend to his guests as per the planned evening schedule and then indicated that he was ready to leave.  
Shanker swung up into his saddle and boosted himself as far forwards as possible to give the doctor as much room as was feasible for the journey.  
“You’l ‘ave to ‘old on, Dr,” Shanker gruffly stated as Dr Enys swung up behind him.   
His bag was positioned infront of Shanker and the doctor brought his arm around to clasp the handle in both of his, ensuring that he was snuggly and securely attached to the small, brawny man without actually gripping him physically.  
Without further pause for breath Shanker spurred on his horse and the pair sprinted back using a fairly similar path to the one he’d used to reach the property, although he omitted a couple of the more risky jumps.

The Brigadier was making steady progress towards Keighley and the large home of the Ellacotts; it was a journey he knew well as they frequently visited.   
On this occasion however he was reminded of the time he had galloped himself across the fields in order to reach the property and proposition Mr Ellacott about the fate of his daughter when she was not his to ask….that journey had brought bliss to his life……his thoughts now were whether this brief occupation to prevent him worrying about his wife and child would result in anguish.  
He physically shook the thoughts from his head and he pressed on and spurred his horse faster into a gallop along one of the small lanes which he knew well.

Dr Enys and Shanker made exceptional time; the man servant rode without concern for his own safety, but ferried the medical professional swiftly to the front door of Tabley.  
Within the parlour Venetia was sipping on a cup of sugared tea between the pains she was experiencing at a fairly regular interval.   
All three women heard the clattering of hooves and recognised a regular, and therefore unfamiliar tread of boots on the tiled hallway.

A knock on the doorway was quickly followed by the entrance of the familiar doctor and a general feeling of relief resonated across the expressions of the three women.  
“Good evening Mrs Strike. I hear that you have taken a tumble. If you will permit me to examine you?” the clear and calm voice of the doctor stated as he removed his jacket, waistcoat and cravat and rolled his sleeves before washing his hands and forearms in the bowl of water set on the sideboard.

“Do whatever you feel is necessary Dr Enys. I feel so foolish…..you see I was rather shocked and not paying attention to my footing….and……now….” for the first time she began to sob as the turn of events played out in her head.

The information from Lady Sarah Shadlock had barely crossed her mind since the fall, but now she couldn’t help but consider afresh the details and how her fury could have caused harm to her child.  
Dr Enys however shushed her emotional outburst, apparently immune or well used to such displays, “Let me first examine you and we’ll see. Ladies, I trust you have been in attendance throughout? Have you anything you can tell me further?” he addressed both Alice and Mrs Helseth as equals, a quality which added to his almost ‘god-like’ reputation, and marital eligibility!

It was Mrs Helseth who gathered herself quickest and hastily, but efficiently related what was known and what had transpired, namely that her mistress was experiencing regular, spasm-like contractions every 12 and then latterly every 8 minutes or so.  
The doctor nodded and without pausing to request further permission took the position between Venetia’s legs and pressed his palms around her petticoat covered belly, watching for signs of discomfort in her face. Seeing none he nodded and made a minimal noise of apparent satisfaction.

“I shall need to examine you intimately Mrs Strike as I have previously explained to you and your husband during our house calls,” and he waited for the nodded acceptance from his patient before he rested against one of her knees and pressed his digits within her, tilting his neck and eyes towards the ceiling as he murmured before withdrawing his hand, rising and washing it afresh in the bowl which Alice had brought over.

“Well…..it very much looks like you are delivering your child. I know it is a little earlier than expected, but I’m afraid your child doesn’t wish to wait….you are quite well along the way and I think the blood loss from the fall may well have been when your waters broke,” he explained seeing Venetia’s gaze suddenly become haunted and scared.

“Don’t panic madam…..my sister Mabel’s last one was a month early and he’s fine and bonny,” Alice reassured her mistress.

The doctor glanced around at the setting – his patient was on a rather appropriate chair, and the room appeared clean and warm, and there was no consideration in his mind of the need to move Mrs Strike.

“I shall require freshly boiled water for my instruments, and fresh linens for placing around the floor along with drying cloths….and stoke up the fire….and bring more tea, but without milk,” the doctor instructed calmly as he removed several implements from his bag before locating a large, stiff apron and a pair of cuffs which served to cover his rolled shirtsleeves.  
Alice went to instruct Barclay who was awaiting his orders, and he sprinted off to gather the requested items. 

A short while later the doctor and Mrs Helseth were draping the best linen bedding around and beneath Venetia as Alice squeezed her hand and wiped her brow following a particularly lengthy and strong pain.

“Every 4 minutes now, Dr Enys. It’s quick!” Alice conveyed to the doctor who nodded and raised his eyebrows.

Venetia was a healthy woman and throughout her pregnancy he knew that she had taken his advice; and the Colonel had certainly taken onboard every recommendation shared with him; and despite the slightly early timing and rapid labour he could see nothing that gave him cause for concern.

"The pain will increase, but try to breathe through it and rest between the pains Mrs Strike. It looks like it's time for you to become a mother!" he smiled reassuringly and both Venetia and Alice gave small sighs as his blue eyes twinkled beneath his slightly shimmering brow.   
Mrs Helseth was not affected by a handsome young man's eyes at her age.....although the sight of his rather pert buttocks beneath the stretched fabric of his dress trousers as he crouched in his rather unorthodox position was definitely a pleasant distraction!


	21. Madonna and Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about the birth.....but we actually have a Baby Strike by the end of this chapter!  
I added a nod to one of my favourite scenes from Gone With The Wind when the Brigadier finds out the gender of his off spring.

The Brigadier was making good time and was within sight of the Ellacott’s large but welcoming home.   
His horse knew the way almost without needing the rein and he swung down from the panting beast as the outdoors servant arrived to see to the animal’s needs.

“I shan’t stay long. Water her, and prepare the carriage for Mrs Ellacott,” he instructed, wiping his sweat covered forehead as he stretched out his neck and entered the main door which he knew from experience would be unlocked at this time of the early evening.

“Mrs Ellacott? Mr Ellacott?” he shouted, heading towards the comfortable sitting room which he thought would be the most likely location of Venetia’s mother.  
The door to the library opened behind him, and upon entering the sitting room he discovered Mrs Ellacott’s startled and concerned looking face.

The small syamese kitten which had been pawing at a trailing ribbon skittered beneath the couch, eyeing the large, booted feet warily.

“Whatever is it Colonel?” she asked.  
Her husband had followed his son-in-law into the room and instantly noted the heightened regalia to his uniform, “Well my boy? Have you galloped all this way to inform us of a promotion? Brigadier Strike is it now?” he asked, beaming broadly.

The tall military man continued to catch his breath and part nodded, part shook his head in response, “I….yes, I am now a Brigadier…but that isn’t……I mean to say I’m here because……Venetia…..she’s…..the doctor should be with her by now…” he gasped and tried to make a coherent communication.

Mrs Ellacott’s face flashed with concern, “Has something happened to her? Is it the baby?”  
Cormoran managed to nod and somehow forced himself not to break his control, although he had an almost desperate urge to bury his head in Mrs Ellacott’s shoulder and sob out his fears.

As usual, Mr Ellacott’s practical approach to every situation in life won out, “Right, my dear, go and gather your travelling cloak and a decent pair of boots whilst I sort out my own attire.”  
“I’ve already requested your carriage,” the Brigadier explained.  
“In that case pour yourself a brandy, drink it down and go and await us in the carriage,” Venetia’s father instructed.  
But his son-in-law cut him off with a hasty shake of his head, although he was helping himself to the suggested drink, “I’m riding back, I’ll be faster and I need to get back to her.”  
His pleading eyes and concerned expression connected with Michael Ellacott, “Is she in danger….tell me,” his voice was instantly authoritative in a manner Strike himself recognised.  
“She fell……there was some blood and pain, but it had eased when I decided to come here myself. She almost told me to get out and do something rather than be in the way…so….”  
“Ha! That’s my girl! Nothing to it lad, it’ll be fine. You say the physician is on his way?” Mr Ellacott asked as he swapped his shoes for sturdier boots and gave a few instructions to their staff.  
Cormoran nodded and took a second draught of brandy, “Yes, I sent my valet for him, with luck he’ll have been there attending to her by now.”

Dr Enys was timing the contractions which were coming almost one on top of the next.   
He was urging Venetia to breathe deeply through the discomfort and encouraged her to shout if she felt it necessary as the pain became sharper and stronger.  
He had checked inside her twice and on the last occasion had mumbled something to Alice about ‘fully prepared’ before she scurried off to request boiling hot water from Barclay and Thomas who were pacing in the hallway, Hatherill having retired to his pantry to tackle the newspaper and await further instruction.

A little over two hours later the newly promoted Brigadier and his horse galloped back up the familiar gravel drive of Tabley.   
He had set out at the same time as the Ellacotts, but obviously made much better time as the carriage had needed to keep to roads.  
He was greeted at the doorway by Hatherill. 

Cormoran’s fears and expression of fear melted upon the butler’s extended hand and on him hearing the loud cries of a newborn ringing from within the house.  
He absently accepted Hatherill’s hand, but didn’t stop his momentum to listen as the old servant offered warmest congratulations on behalf of the staff. Instead he strode towards the parlour, discarding his cloak and gloves messily enroute.

He entered into a scene which looked like a mixture of a battlefield hospital and a tea party.  
The floor was still covered with what had once been pristine, white bedding sheets, but were now stained crimson.  
Mrs Helseth, Dr Enys and his wife were sipping tea, Alice was wiping down the squealing, wriggling bundle and all appeared relieved and well given the general carnage of the room.

“I came as fast as……..I’ve missed it all?” the Brigadier stammered, trying to look at his wife, his baby and not step in something untoward as he edged into the room.  
Dr Enys placed his teacup and saucer down and advanced towards the slightly shaking, sweating man whose usual brusque and controlled equilibrium seemed somewhat out of balance.

“Your wife tells me that I am to greet you as Brigadier Strike. Congratulations on all of your good fortune, Sir,” he extended his hand to the still shaking man.

“Is she all right….there’s so much blood,” he glanced around and met his wife’s pale and tired expression.

The doctor informed him that the baby had made a very rapid appearance which had resulted in quite a lot of blood loss for Venetia, although as long as she rested herself she would be well.  
“I’m fine, dearest….I shan’t break,” Venetia smiled softly, and beatifically from beneath her seriously ruffled hair.

Alice had by this time swaddled the tiny, pink creature in a clean blanket and was moving carefully across to her mistress, cradling the subdued baby.  
The Brigadier had reached his wife’s side and was clutching her hand almost fiercely, staring into her blue-grey eyes with his own, oddly moist green ones.

“Here you are madam,” Alice carefully transferred the tiny bundle into Venetia’s arms as the Brigadier’s gruff exterior and mammoth size suddenly melted into an almost teddybear-like demeanour.

He nestled his hand beneath the swaddled babe, covering his wife’s fingers as they stared, rapturously at their child.

“I’m sorry it isn’t a boy,” Venetia stated, glancing sideways at her husband’s awestruck features.  
He expelled the breath he realised he had been holding, “Who the hell wants boys! They’re nothing but trouble…..I’m proof of that!” he smiled, his eyes never leaving the screwed up face of his daughter who appeared to be discovering how to make her mouth form all manner of shapes, all of which he wanted to capture in images instantly.

Venetia smiled at him, smiling at their child and sighed, her eyes drifting closed as the exertion of childbirth suddenly caught up with her.  
The Brigadier momentarily cast his eyes away from the baby towards his wife, “I am the luckiest of men. I love you very much my dear. I was so worried about you…..I’m so glad you’re safe.”  
He kissed her temple and felt her droop against his arm which he’d extended around her shoulders having been brought a chair by Mrs Helseth who was assisting Alice in the general cleaning up and restoring of the parlour to an acceptable state.

Dr Enys was gathering together his instruments and the items of clothing he had removed upon entering the parlour and gave the family a little privacy until he deemed it appropriate.  
He cleared his throat and smiled as the Brigadier grudgingly rose and left his wife’s side.   
He extended his hand to the doctor, “I cannot thank you enough. You are an amazing man. Thank you,” he stated, with more sincerity than Dr Enys was used to receiving from his wealthier clients.  
“You are more than welcome. She should be fine, although she lost a lot of blood due to the speed of delivery. The tumble she took undoubtedly brought the birth on early, but thankfully your wife is healthy, and young….it could have been nasty….thankfully she was calm and your daughter appears perfectly fine,” the young doctor explained in hushed tones as Alice and Mrs Helseth crouched beside their mistress as she cradled the baby.  
The Brigadier nodded sombrely, he couldn’t quite bear to think about how the events of the evening could have gone differently. 

Alice appeared to be assisting Venetia with her gown, which was still partially covering her, having only been loosened and lifted up due to the speed her labour had progressed.  
“That’s it…….just hold her like that…..it might hurt a bit ‘til she gets the knack,” Alice was saying as she helped her mistress lift the baby to her breast to suckle.  
Dr Enys indicated to the Brigadier that he wished to approach the women, and received a clear consent from the large man.

“If I may, Mrs Strike, there is recent advice to hold the baby much more vertically, almost on her side….and ensure she latches fully onto the breast,” he stated without any hint of embarrassment…..the same could not be said for Mrs Helseth whose eyebrows threatened to blend into her widow’s peak as the man dexterously handled the baby and her mistress.  
Venetia however gave a sharp breath and a small chuckle as the baby began to suckle correctly, meeting the adoring gaze of her husband and the satisfied nod of the doctor.

The brigadier suddenly seemed to notice his surroundings and his practical brain kicked into play, “Can my wife be moved? Or should I instruct staff to bring down a bed for her here?” he asked.  
“Do you have a couple of strong men on your staff? Capable of carrying your wife and the chair she’s on?” Dr Enys asked.  
“Certainly!” replied the Brigadier, thinking of Barclay and Thomas….and Shanker even.  
“Then carefully carry her with the chair up to her chamber. Make sure the bedding is fresh and changed daily, and instruct the windows to be opened to get fresh air through the room each day….the idea of sealing up a room and building up a fire to stifling heat is poppycock!” the doctor added. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll take my leave and return to my dinner guests. Congratulations Brigadier.”  
The man in question however had gravitated back to his wife and child and was tenderly watching as his daughter’s cheeks moved rhythmically against the soft haven of her mother’s breast.  
One of her tiny hands had wormed it’s way free from the blanket and she was stretching her fingers, grasping for some invisible butterfly.  
Venetia stifled an emotion filled sob as her husband extended his fingertip and their daughter gripped it, fixing her dazzling sapphire eyes on his swarthy features.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, feeling like he would be content to stay exactly as he was for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I got a bit carried away with writing how doting and perfect the Brigadier is over his new arrival, so the following chapter is unashamedly full of fluff and gooeyness!!


	22. A babe in swaddling clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, unashamedly carried away with the Brigadier doting on his daughter!  
We have a name - again linked to Gone With The Wind and a couple of other little ideas (I just wanted to have the line 'I do like Alexandra in there!....and Lucinda's prompt inspired the initial I am No Bird regency AU idea!)  
He also discovers De Cunliffe's part in his wife's fall.

Having given the room a final check, to ensure nothing untowards was remaining on display, Mrs Helseth made her way into the hallway to inform the pacing male staff and nervously darning Rose that Tabley had welcomed a new life, a girl, and that both she and the mistress were well.  
Shanker actually punched his fist in the air and gave a rousing shout of, “Thank Gawd above for that”

She conveyed the instructions that they would be transporting their mistress up to her bed chamber and Rose instantly set aside her sewing in order to go and see to the room; making sure the fire was set and the bedding turned down and warmed.   
She also instructed that one of the stableboys be sent along the main route towards Keighley so that the news of the safe arrival could be passed onto Mrs Ellacott to allay her worries.  
Shanker excused himself and bolted to his own room up in the eaves and brought the beautifully polished wood of the wooden crib he had been entrusted with restoring and making ready down, setting it beside the bed, with Rose indicating the side usually preferred by their mistress.  
They had already installed a range of soft linens inside ready to nestle the babe into and both servants shared a smile as they slipped down the back staircase.

Satisfied that she had sated the appetite of the little creature in her arms, Venetia attempted to reassemble her clothes, hampered by holding the child.  
“Dearest, would you hold your daughter whilst I ready myself?” she suggested, seeing her husband’s initial terror at the responsibility, and then his usually brutal features soften as he she gave him no choice and slipped the child into his strong arms.

He was mesmerised by the fact that his large palm almost reached from top to toe of his daughter; and that she settled without any of the fuss or noise he had expected.   
She had almost no weight to her; about the same as a musket he considered as he became slightly braver in controlling her small, tightly bound body.

The hand she had managed to wriggle free was now stretching and waving around as the Brigadier transferred her into a more regular position, similar to how his wife had nestled her against her body.  
“We need a name for this beauty,” he stated, making his eyes and brows arched and wide and blowing delicately against her silken skin, ruffling the flash of dark hair visible on her crown. 

Venetia gingerly pushed herself further back in the seat, wincing fractionally as she realised exactly how sore she was now that the endorphin rush had calmed down.

“I thought you said that you liked Alexandra,” she queried, realising that now that she had surrendered her baby to its father she may never gain access again based on his cooing and focussed expressions.

“I do like Alexandra…..would you like to be called Alexandra, little one?” he murmured watching intently as the child in his arms screwed up her face and issued a mewling yawn of contentment.

Venetia gratefully accepted the glass of water offered her by Alice who was hovering with a second glass on the tray, this time filled with whisky for her master.

“I should like her to have the name Lucinda as a second name…..simply because I like it,” she proffered, seeing her husband nod in acceptance.

“Her nails, Venetia….have you seen them? They’re so tiny, but perfect….and her eyes…..they’re the colour of bluebells I swear it!” he stated, briefly dragging his gaze from the bundle in his arms to meet the adoring smile of his wife.

“Darling, most babies have blue eyes when they are born!” she laughed as he came back beside her and seated himself on the arm of her chair, holding the baby so that she could rest her little finger in its mouth.

“Well, I don’t care…..my daughter’s eyes are blue, and they’re staying blue….and in case they don’t I’m adding Bluebell to her name…..unless you disapprove?” he smiled.

“Alexandra Lucinda Bluebell Strike…..it certainly has a ring to it. What a very grand name to live up to you very little thing,” Venetia sighed, dipping her head and pressing her lips against the heavenly softness of her daughter’s forehead.

A cough behind them signified the arrival of assistance to carry Mrs Strike up to the comfort of her room.  
The Brigadier took his child into the hallway where all of the staff had now gathered.  
“Let me introduce you to Alexandra Lucinda Bluebell; my daughter,” he stated, his breath catching slightly in his throat as Hatherill gave a respectful nod and Rose and the kitchen maid Milly pressed forwards, to see the baby.   
Shanker met the delighted, slightly off centred grin of his master and returned a cheeky wink as he stepped across to see the child.

“Blimey! Now, you do realise littul’ Miss that when you’re older any suitor o’yours will ‘ave to get ‘frough some pretty harsh scrutiny!” he stated, making the Brigadier laugh heartily.

“The harshest!” he added with a snarl, “None but the most worthy will ever seek your hand…..and if I have my way you’ll stay here at Tabley with me guarding you forever!”

Mrs Helseth passed on the information that the news had been shared with Mr and Mrs Ellacott, and that given that their carriage was not a third of the way along its journey they had decided better to allow the family and their daughter in particular rest, and that they would arrive the following day to greet their grandchild.

Barclay and Thomas easily and capably transported Venetia up to her chamber and as they set her down it was Alice and Mrs Helseth who again tended to her and assisted in wiping her down with warm water scented with lavender and moving her carefully from the low seat into her beautifully prepared bed, a crisp, clean nightgown covering her and her hair brushed out into glossy, amber waves.

Seeing Mrs Helseth descend the staircase, the Brigadier gave his thanks for everyone’s assistance and support; instructed Hatherill to open a bottle of sherry below stairs to wet the baby’s head and requested that the meal which had been prepared for the evening for Mr and Mrs Strike be kept on hold and most likely prepared for a tray in their room.

He carried his daughter lovingly up to the bed chamber that would only ever be considered ‘theirs’ and inhaled sharply at the vision of perfection which greeted him.  
Venetia’s eyes had drifted closed, her hand resting against the pillow his head usually rested upon and the dim glow of the fire and candles cast an almost dream-like quality to the scene.

The crib looked perfect; he would thank Shanker later, and substantially, for his efforts and he finally, almost reluctantly set the baby down.  
She gave a few wriggles as he adjusted the soft covers around her, but settled with a further yawn of her tiny, pink mouth and after a few rocks from his fingertips appeared to be sleeping.

“I was so worried about you my darling. I cannot begin to tell you have happy I am to know that you are safe….I could never imagine my life without you,” he murmured, sitting beside his wife and stroking his palm across her covered leg.  
The action caused Venetia to stir and she opened her tired, but happy eyes onto the sight of her husband’s dark, loving gaze.

“Are you well?” he asked and smiled as she nodded back at him, although he noticed a quick flicker of pain behind her eyes.  
“How did you fall?” he asked, “Did you hurt yourself at all?”

Venetia inhaled sharply and recalled the humiliating meeting with Lady Sarah Shadlock in the parlour.  
“You must answer me honestly when I ask this next, I’m afraid rather dreadful question of you,” she stated, seeing the look of instant concern on his face.

“I will always be honest with you. Ask me, what is it?”

She again breathed deeply and moistened her lips, “In London……did you have need to……did you visit a…..” her voice faltered and faded, but Cormoran immediately knew what her question was and grasped for her small hand, cradling it in his large, dark haired ones.

“My darling I did have need to visit a business that I would rather have avoided. I’m afraid I was required to seek out Nicholas Herbert….don’t look like that, he was guilty of nothing other than trying to keep pace with some less scrupulous men in their drinking and I’m afraid he got dragged along with them. I was able to fetch him away before he behaved dishonourably and I would have told you but, he’d initially decided to keep the incident from his wife,” he explained calmly.

Venetia was a sensible woman and she listened without turning to hysterics.  
What he said made sense and sounded honest.

“Why did he change his mind?” she asked.

This request caused an abrupt alteration to the Brigadier’s body language and he screwed up his face, dragging one hand across his bristled jaw before he answered, “I’m afraid one of the rather unprincipled men that he was trying to keep pace with was Matthew De Cunliffe….and he was attempting to hold this over Nicholas; hence why he was forced to give him a place in his carriage home. Nicholas decided that he’d tell Mrs Herbert everything so that he could no longer use it as a method of coaxing further favours from him,” he explained.

Venetia took a slightly stuttering breath, “I tripped after Lady Sarah Shadlock paid a visit and informed me rather tactlessly that you had been seen leaving the place….I believe Mr de Cunliffe was involved in verifying the story to her…..clearly without explaining his own involvement!”

Beside her Venetia could see her husband’s body language change from soft, relaxed happiness to tense, barely contained anger.   
His jaw had tightened along with his clenched fists and for a moment she feared that he would take up his pistol and go in search of the vile man.

“The coward!” he hissed, “I’ll……I’d challenge him….call him out if it wasn’t for….” And he glanced over at the peaceful bundle in the crib.

Venetia clutched at his sleeve, “Don’t! It isn’t worth it,” she stated, shaking her head at him and pleading with her eyes for him to calm.

“Don’t worry….I have no intention of taking any revenge on him in that way…..my days of duelling are long gone……although if he dares to show himself I can’t honestly say that I won’t pummel his face into a bloodied pulp!” he replied, his breath coming in shallow, bull-like snorts through his flared nostrils.

“If he comes near here I might be tempted to let you!” she whispered, her silvery eyes twinkling and making him smile despite his fury.

Their lips met, and all thoughts of Matthew De Cunliffe melted away.


	23. Gifts for the baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sort of came about purely because I wanted an image of the Brigadier and Nicholas Herbert in shirts and waistcoats in the study, smoking, scribbling and deep in focussed conversation....*sigh....indulge me!  
The idea of Nicholas standing against Matthew for a seat came about due to the recent election in the UK.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is more Brigadier gushing over his daughter-ness too!

Mr and Mrs Ellacott were as good as their word and arrived the following day.   
Venetia had been advised to remain in her bed, and she was in no rush to disobey Dr Enys’ instructions.   
So her parents were welcomed into the chamber where they were greeted by the sight of their massive son in law holding his daughter out in front of himself, cooing and mumbling to her with his face animated in tenderness.

Venetia was adjusting the lace wrap around her shoulders and she looked radiantly happy as she smiled at her mother and father.

“Congratulations my little Robin! What a joy!” Michael Ellacott swooped across to engulf his daughter and press multiple kissed to her hair, which had been brushed out and fastened into a style more suited to receiving family guests.  
“Not too rough darling, she’s been through a huge ordeal!” Mrs Ellacott retorted, but replaced her husband as he moved back to allow her to kiss her daughter and hand over a beautiful pendant bearing a large garnet as a gift for their daughter.

The Brigadier grinned and walked across to his in-laws, his face reflecting his complete joy and pride in his family.  
“May I present Alexandra Lucinda Bluebell, your grand daughter, to you, madam,” and he carefully, but ably passed the small, pink bundle across to the outstretched arms of Mrs Ellacott who cooed and nestled the baby in her arm, against her heart.  
Mr Ellacott twitched back the covers gently to catch sight of the flash of dark hair.

“No denying who her father is, eh?” he twinkled across at the happy face of Cormoran as he sat beside his wife.

Their intimacy and tenderness towards each other was something which warmed the old man’s heart.   
To know that his beloved Robin was loved and cherished so much was a blessing to him. And to know that she was safe following such an early delivery…well, he considered it his early Christmas gift!

Mr and Mrs Ellacott stayed and left the following day as the house tried to gain some sense of new normality.  
The brigadier had sent out the relevant letters to advise Catterick of his home duties, and to inform his aunt and their closest friends and relations of the new arrival.  
He also contacted the local newspaper to have an announcement made and gave various details, including the name they had selected.  
Between these more mundane tasks he was frequently found staring into his daughter’s crib, or cradling her tiny body in his arms.  
It was he who seemed to have a knack for winding her effectively after Venetia had fed her; and he watched and learned how to bathe her so that he could take charge of the process until Venetia was more capable of moving without pain.  
His attention towards his child was unorthodox, but none of his household found it unusual knowing their master as they now did.

Various notes of congratulations arrived along with small gifts, various floral arrangements and some beautiful collections of hot-house fruit.  
Ilsa and Nicholas Herbert sent on word that they wished to visit, but would only do so once they had received word that Venetia was fit and well enough.  
And so it was three weeks later that the Herberts arrived at Tabley, ready to greet their God daughter.

Venetia had been able to move around her home and take short walks in the grounds; well bundled up and supported on the arm of the Brigadier for several days and was therefore looking her usual vision of loveliness in a warm green, velvet gown which was covered in intricate, cream and rose coloured embroidered flowers when the young family heard the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels.

After a pleasing round of ‘pass the baby’, each of the friends had expressed their joy and delight.

Ilsa had noted the Brigadier’s apparent ease and closeness to his child and looked on fondly as he now adeptly took her back from her own husband and cooed in her face to elicit a small, high pitched squeal of apparent delight.

She turned to Venetia with a soft face.  
“Yes! One is in danger of becoming somewhat jealous!” Venetia smiled and chuckled good naturedly as her husband sensed he was the object of discussion and grinned at his wife’s adoring eyes.

The conversation turned to everyday matters, and Nicholas was explaining some of the current feelings in Bradford towards their Member of Parliament.  
“The man is simply not reflecting the views and concerns of the local industrial classes. Masters are tired of increasing taxes and trying to meet the reasonable demands of their workers. Most of them want to ensure their workers are safe and healthy…”  
Venetia interrupted, “It’s in their best interests……a good worker who is loyal can work longer if they are cared for….my father and brother always say so,” she stated.

Nicholas nodded and continued, “Exactly! De Cunliffe seems to care little for the industries. He is supporting the taxes on profits and increased financial burden on industry when almost two thirds of his voters are connected in some way to business! Because his money is inherited he seems to forget that the pressure on those of us who must earn our living requires him to think differently.”

Cormoran had never seen his friend so passionate about the subject; perhaps the recent business with De Cunliffe had given him a clearer perspective, or a renewed fire in his belly.  
Nicholas had been pacing before the fireplace as he made his comments, but met his wife’s gaze as he crossed towards her; sitting on one of the upholstered chairs beside the couch which held Venetia and her baby, and his wife.

“He’s a terrible MP…..I wish something could be done about it,” the Brigadier stated, inhaling sharply and demolishing one of his favoured shortbread biscuits from the refreshment tray.  
Nicholas inhaled deeply and squared up his shoulders, “Actually I am going to do something…..I’m standing against him at the election…as a Whig candidate, with Ilsa’s support naturally.”

Venetia and the Brigadier gave hearty exclamations of shock and delight, Cormoran shaking his friend’s hand as he stressed his pride in him taking a stand.

“I don’t expect I shall win on this occasion….there is limited time to make an impact on voters…..but perhaps it will make the vile man sit up and realise he needs to change!” Nicholas added as Venetia placed her daughter into a bassinette in order to embrace both Mr and Mrs Herbert.

“I only wish I were able to vote…..you could be certain of my support,” she stated, smiling warmly at Ilsa’s happy but resigned face.

I was now Cormoran’s turn to pace, and Venetia could almost see the cogs whirring into action in his head. 

“Have you spoken with many about this?” he asked, meeting Nicholas’ shaking head.  
“Not a soul, apart from a few of the necessary party representatives in London….nobody in the potential voting numbers,” he added.  
“Then we’d better make a start! Do you happen to have a voting register?” and the ladies sighed as their husbands quickly became absorbed in discussing strategies and actions.

Much as the ladies could have held their own in the discussions they were far more interested in planning the christening of Alexandra…and Venetia was insistent that their planned New Years party would still take place.  
“My dear, why do you not take Mr Herbert to your study? I’m sure that you will quickly wish to cover a desk with your scrawled notes….and perhaps a cigar may help your thought processes?” Venetia suggested, seeing her husband’s eyes flick back towards the tempting platter of shortbread on the sideboard.   
“You may take the biscuits!” she chuckled as his eyebrows flashed and he swiped up the plate, leading Nicholas towards the room which served as the Brigadier’s study and the library.

Ilsa sighed, “Now I fear I may lose my husband for at least the next three weeks until this election is finished!” but it was spoken with mirth and a proudness behind it.

“But if he wins it certainly won’t be over in a few weeks! He’ll be down in London even more than he is already? Have you considered that?” Venetia asked, knowing how her friend longed for more time with her husband so that they might start their own family.

Ilsa glanced across at the sleeping baby, “We have discussed it. It is highly unlikely that Nicholas will take the seat at this election; there is so little time now to campaign and get his message across…..but making a stand is what matters to him. And I suppose if he were to win we could always take a house in London for a time.”

A couple of hours later the baby had been fed and taken upstairs to her crib by Rose; the ladies were considering changing for dinner but there was still no sign of their husbands.   
Out in the hallway the resonant, deep baritone of the Brigadier could be heard, along with Nicholas Herbert’s less gravelly timbre.

Both ladies observed from the open doorway; the two, masculine figures were hunched over the desk, both having discarded their topcoats, revealing their voluminous shirt sleeves and fetching, snuggly fitting waistcoats in shimmering, bronze coloured satin for the Brigadier and a delicate shade of duck egg blue silk, covered in trailing deeper blue scrollwork.  
Their animated focus was incredibly appealing, as was the fact that both men had ink stained fingers; Nicholas’ still curled around the wooden barrelled nib as if about to scribble down some vital piece of detail at any moment.   
The Brigadier’s own hand was cradling the bottom third of one of his favoured, fat cigars and there was an alluring aroma of masculinity emanating from the room in general.

So concentrated and focussed where they that they failed to notice their wives observing them until Ilsa coughed.

“Dearest? Time is getting on and I’m certain this topic of conversation may be continued after dinner…..both Venetia and myself are more than comfortable and able to participate,” she stated.

Her husband flashed her a gentle and rather excited smile, “Forgive us, ladies……we have become quite carried away with our plans. But you are quite right, let us retire and change and we can seek your approval for our ideas over some fine food!”

He collected his jacket and decided against putting it on given that Cormoran rose and didn’t bother with his own as he looked longingly at the remnants of his cigar before wrinkling his uneven lips towards his wife.  
“Finish it,” she flashed, charmingly, “I shall instruct Shanker to make your clothes ready.”  
The couple exchanged a brief and furtive, but well practised, blown kiss and flare of blown pupils as they exchanged a silent ‘I adore you’ across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....they are soooooo in lurve!!!


	24. Festive trimmings on the tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OF TWO TODAY  
The last part sort of bloomed and grew a bit, so rather than have one mahoosive chapter I am posting two today to end the fic.  
Lady Charlotte makes another appearance!

Over a delicious dinner the gentlemen shared their various ideas and plans, all aimed at drawing as much attention towards an alternative to Matthew De Cunliffe as a representative for their views in parliament.  
They were hopeful that they would be able to address and potentially influence the votes of at least a third of the borough – mainly because they were gentlemen known to either of the men, or the Ellacotts. 

The ladies had listened and nodded their agreement with their ideas, Venetia had suggested that they could have some influence over the wives of some of the other voters – although the Brigadier was sensitive to the fact that he didn’t want his wife over taxing herself so soon after the birth of their child.

“My dear, women have been delivering babies for years! I shan’t break….and maybe being seen as a candidate who is favoured by families and children will be in Nicholas’ favour…..it is certainly something that his opposition won’t have considered!” Venetia stated, arching her eyebrow at Nicholas’ interested expression and the thoughtful resignation of her own husband who knew better than to dictate to his wife what she should and shouldn’t do with her own body.

The following 2 weeks running up to the election passed in a whirlwind of meetings, hustings, appearances and speeches.   
The positive reputation of the Ellacott’s in trade, combined with the backing of the newly promoted Brigadier were definitely favourable – people in the area had long since forgotten, or treated the somewhat unorthodox nature of Cormoran’s parentage with the contempt the gossips deserved. And when De Cunliffe began to use this as a tactic in his campaign it was quickly quashed; served to turn several more voters towards rather than away from Mr Herbert; and also served to reassure the Whig candidate himself that perhaps he had his odious and inept competition on the rails.

Nicholas and Ilsa had already discussed the potential for De Cunliffe to bring up the unfortunate issue of his error of judgement in London.   
They would face any gossip and rumours in the knowledge that no real harm had been caused, and that both knew the full and untainted truth of the event.  
The Brigadier had stated his willingness to support Nicholas, and would back up the truthful version of events, as would Venetia having been fully acquainted with the whole debacle.

It hadn’t surprised her that Lady Charlotte would have shared what she saw of the man she had lost in love….and it didn’t surprise her in the slightest that Lady Sarah Shadlock would have taken delight in trying to upset her.   
Venetia had recognised her jealous nature long ago….but rather wistfully always remembered the encounter with her now husband which had transpired as a direct result of one of the appalling woman’s outbursts at a ball.   
That stolen moment seated behind the drapes beside him as he told her that in his view Lady Sarah was completely wrong about her opinion was a memory which she now knew had led to him falling deeply in love with her rather than simply considering her a passing, attractive fancy.  
He’d blushed when he’d recalled, post-coitally, how he’d covered his lips across the smudge on the glass that hers had occupied…and it had led to a further passionate encounter between the married couple, and a very late rising from their shared bed the following day!

Lady Charlotte Campbell had travelled north by direction of her father.   
He’d all but forced her into an upcoming marriage with a rather old, boring but wealthy aristocrat who had his estate in the bleak north east coast.  
She was miserable.

All of the men she’d thrown herself at had either married others or been barred from further attentions towards her by her father.   
She was still a luminous beauty, but her looks no longer seemed to bring her the attentions of youthful, handsome men…..instead they brought the withering glances of happily married women who distrusted her, but knew that they had a husband whereas she remained alone.

She had intended to pass a week or so in the company of her acquaintance, Lady Sarah Shadlock, but the excitement surrounding the election had meant she had stayed for longer.  
She’d also discovered the truth surrounding the man she had realised far too late was the man she had truly wanted to make hers…..the now Brigadier Cormoran Strike.

She had been informed by a flushed Lady Sarah, who had heard on reliable authority that the stumbling figures of the Brigadier and his friend Nicholas Herbert which had been observed from the carriage by Lady Charlotte had been innocent of any ungentlemanlike behaviour behind the blue doored establishment.

Lady Charlotte had been painfully relieved to discover the truth; in her heart she had never felt him capable of behaving that way.   
It also somehow made that fact that she had lost him to Venetia Ellacott easier to bear – he had rebuked her advances at the barracks that evening, and to think of him stumbling into bed with another, randomly selected female was insulting. 

She had hoped to avoid contact with either the Brigadier or his wife, but her extended stay and the fact that both were actively supporting the campaign of Nicholas Herbert meant that of course, sooner or later she would be forced into the same vicinity as one of them.

It was Mrs Strike whom she happened upon.

She had been on her way from her preferred haberdashers where she had been giving orders relating to the fabric for the christening gown she and the Brigadier had decided upon commissioning.  
Despite her earlier reticence at leaving her child she was now becoming more adjusted to continuing her own activities and fitting the feeding and nurturing requirements of motherhood into her life.   
The fact that she had appointed a local lady, called Gwendoline to act as a nursery maid had also eased the process.

Venetia almost bumped directly into Lady Charlotte on the pavement and was about to continue on her way after a hasty apology but felt the other woman’s hand squeeze at her forearm and paused.  
Lady Charlotte met the slightly wary eyes of Venetia and released her grip fractionally, but maintained her hand resting on the pink cheeked woman.  
She noticed, not for the first time, how attractive Venetia Strike was…..how open and unguarded her expression was, how clear her complexion and how pretty her hair was against the deep green velvet of her bonnet and high collared pelisse.

“I’m glad I have seen you, Mrs Strike…..I…..I wanted you to know that I realise I was wrong about something….connected to your husband,” she blushed and maintained her focus on Venetia’s gaze. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.”

Venetia felt the sincerity in the words, and also saw a flash of sadness behind her eyes.

“My husband never gives me any reason to doubt him,” Venetia replied. “I know him too well to allow idle gossip to influence my feelings towards him.”

Lady Charlotte gave a curt nod, “I hope that I can say the same of mine…..although I’m not certain I shall wish to know him as well as a match I would have chosen for myself.”  
Venetia felt the stiffening of the palm against her arm and felt a pang of anguish for the woman whom she knew had realised too late what her heart desired and could now never have.

“I’m sorry,” Venetia said softly and with so much sincerity that Lady Charlotte felt a lump rise in her throat and blinked sharply to remove the threatening tears from her eyes.

“Perhaps one day we’ll have dominion over our own bodies and lives…..who knows we may even get the vote!” the tall, dark haired woman replied jokingly.

“We live in a time of great change…..nothing is ever so firmly set that it cannot change,” Venetia suggested.

“…except for the will of my father when it comes to the subject of his daughter’s marriage!” she shrugged and made to leave, but turned as she did, “I truly hope that when your daughter is of age her father will allow her to choose for love.”

“I’m sure it couldn’t be any other way!” Venetia replied, smiling into the face of the woman who was facing such a very different future to her own.

Before she left she pulled Venetia into a brief embrace, whispering in her ear hastily, “Matthew De Cunliffe had an opportunity to clear your husband and Nicholas Herbert’s name regarding….that business….I heard it from someone I trust….he was there, and not an innocent bystander. Needless to say he didn’t use that opportunity and instead sought to further hurt you and Mrs Herbert….be wary of him.”

And she turned and bundled herself into the plush, waiting carriage and was gone.

Venetia was slightly perplexed by the entire encounter, and tried to reconcile the final piece of information she had been given.  
It was clearly Mr De Cunliffe who had shared the details of the London incident with Lady Sarah, and of course she would have lapped up his gossip without giving a second thought about how he knew of the details.

She made her way back to Tabley.

Her husband was in his study dealing with correspondence whilst the staff were busy decorating the parlour and hallway with festive foliage, candles and sweet, scented oranges.  
He smiled upon meeting her warm eyes and instantly saw the thoughtful flicker behind them.

“What is it? Has something happened?” he asked, holding both of her hands in his own as he drew her across to where he was seated and encouraged her to sit on his lap.

“I bumped into Lady Charlotte Campbell in town,” she stated.

She could feel his body tense around her but continued,  
“She informed me, amongst other things, that Matthew De Cunliffe had an opportunity to clear the names of both you and Nicholas regarding the incident in London….and he didn’t.”

He sighed and squeezed his hands against the softness of her hips, “I hate him….and I hate that he almost had ownership of you….and….despite all of that, he was drunk, and it would have been dishonourable of me to humiliate him with my own knowledge of what transpired. But I’m glad that Lady Charlotte is aware that what she saw has an innocent explanation….not for my own reputation….but for yours, at least in her eyes.”

Venetia regarded his soft green eyes, “I feel sorry for her. She is being married off to some rich, old man near Sunderland….and she’s still in love with you.”

She felt her husband’s lips seek out her cheek and leant into the familiar scent and soft bristle of his beard, “She doesn’t know what love feels like…..I didn’t myself until I met you,” his mouth found hers and they kissed with unashamed passion for a long time.


	25. Bunting bearing the words Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the end........Matthew gets his comeuppance in style.  
No Angry Badgers....but one hell of a Pumped up Herbert!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The musical accompaniment Venetia considers in my mind was the Regency equivalent of R.E.S.P.E.C.T in Bridget Jones.

The actual election day fell 4 days before Christmas.   
The Brigadier went out to cast his vote along with the other property owning men of the borough.

The result was still too close to call – for all his unpopularity with a large contingent of the voting community De Cunliffe was still the first choice for many of the more aristocratic voters who would always vote Tory regardless of the candidate in order to show allegiance to the monarchy.

The Brigadier had been required to justify his support of a Whig candidate given that he was supposed to remain loyal to the King in his position within the militia.  
His calm arguments which had centred around the concept of questioning whether an order was validly thought out rather than blindly followed seemed to win muster and agreement – most of the military would follow a given order, but also recognised that at times an alternative view needed to be proposed, even if this meant going against a superior’s orders.   
The Brigadier stated that he was loyal to the monarchy in so far as they made sound judgements, but that he would argue for the safety of his country and regiments even if this meant losing his position.

He was a rousing and passionate speaker and had managed to secure a great number of votes for his friend, but the final votes were yet to be counted!

In an effort to curtail his nervousness over the result the two couples had retired to Tabley and were enjoying the delighted gurgling of little Bluebell (as she had quickly become known within the household) as a distraction to the political events which had taken up so much time, especially for the men.

The Brigadier had made sure to visit his daughter as often as possible each day, glorying in each small development in her size and ‘talents’; although his wife had been quick to emphasise that opening her eyes, blinking and sticking out her tongue were hardly likely to be ones which made her fortune!

Nicholas still maintained that he did not expect to take the seat, and that by standing he was merely trying to raise the concept to De Cunliffe that he needed to take heed of the wishes of his constituency more.  
The voting was supposed to close in the evening, but since there was only a restricted number of those who could place their votes it had been agreed by all that the counting would start as soon as all votes had been cast, and owing to the fact that almost all of the voters had businesses to run or wanted to be seen placing their votes, which meant doing so early when the press representatives were in town, the counting had been announced as starting at a little before 3 o’clock.

The quartet at Tabley were taking tea; enjoying the delights of buttered muffins, sandwiches filled with sliced beef and mustard, fruit cake, tartlets filled with bramble jelly (a particular favourite of Mr Herbert) and small, hot doughnuts covered with cinnamon and sugar (a particular favourite of the Brigadier!)

At a little after half past 4 there was the sound of hooves and scattering of gravel, which was expected – the representatives knew that Nicholas was at Tabley and would send on word once a result was known.  
They all took the early arrival as a sign that the vote wasn’t close and that there was a clear victor; namely De Cunliffe.

However a second sound; the wheels of a carriage; could be heard, together with the raised tones of a male voice.   
Hatherill could be heard greeting the visitor and he appeared at the door to the parlour, somewhat flustered.

“I beg your pardon, Sir, Madam, but Mr De Cunliffe is here and wishes to pay his respects.”

Cormoran cast a thunderous glance across at Venetia who, he couldn’t help notice, had taken hold of their daughter and was clutching her close to her body as if fearful for her safety.

Before they could make any further move the man himself strode into the parlour, taking in the sight of Venetia with her child, and the Brigadier who had taken a step towards them both.   
He was wearing his full uniform having felt it best to play up his military credentials in the face of those who felt they should not support a Whig candidate for fear of appearing disloyal to the crown and therefore made an imposing figure in the room.

“I’m long overdue paying my respects and offering my congratulations to you….Mrs Strike,” he almost spat the title, “Although of course if you’d produced a future voter I daresay I’d have managed to visit earlier!”

Venetia could see her husband biting his lip and clenching his hands into fists at the aspersion that their child had limited value by nature of not being male.

Ilsa Herbert managed to control both her features and her voice as she addressed the man, “Mr De Cunliffe, I trust you have heard news of the vote and are keen to shake hands with the loser. I’m sure my husband is quite amicable to the thought of having lost to a more well supported candidate, although of course I’m equally certain that now that you are aware of the variety of views of your constituents you will be in a much better place to represent them.”

Venetia flashed a mental look of triumph towards her friend…..the speech was worthy of a musical accompaniment!

Matthew De Cunliffe however sneered his narrow lips in an unattractive manner, “Good Lord! You allow your wife to speak on your behalf in such a manner do you? And people have given their support to you today! What the hell is the world coming to?”

His voice was raised and his arm flailing around in a manner which brought to mind a drunken lack of control.

“Mr De Cunliffe, if you wished to pay your respects to my wife and myself on the birth of our daughter then consider your duty discharged, Sir. If you have no further business perhaps a less emotionally draining day might be a better choice for a longer visit…I’m sure Mr Herbert will….” the Brigadier’s voice was cut off by the louder, more aggressive tone of Matthew De Cunliffe.

“OH! MR Herbert…..of course, your little chum and brother-in-arms…..of course you stick by each other….and no doubts you share everything,” his eyes shot wildly between Ilsa Herbert and Venetia and back to the baby nestled in her arms, “Definitely from the right stable is it? Crippled in the war but still got everything at his feet, eh? Brigadier Strike!”

Venetia could sense her husband seething beside her, his attention focussing on the face of his daughter presumably to remind him of the need to refrain from crossing the room in a stride and calling out the man who had just besmirched his family.

Ilsa was trying vainly to control her own breathing and nodded at her husband as he crossed and placed a hand gently on his friend’s arm, his voice sounding harsh between his gritted teeth as he stated simply, “Allow me,” and met the swirling, dark eyes of De Cunliffe with a curt instruction of “Outside….NOW!”

****[LulaIsAKitten may need a little sit down to imagine that scene for an hour or so!!!]****

Nicholas Herbert was not an aggressive man; he didn’t seek out trouble, but nor did he shirk away from his duty, and to have his friend’s, and by definition his own honour so wilfully questioned by the odious man was more than he was willing to accept.   
Losing an election to the snipe was one thing, but losing his sense of pride was not to be tolerated.

Noting the purposeful stride of Mr Herbert and the swagger of the visiting ‘gentleman’ Hatherill had dashed downstairs to stir Barclay and Shanker, in case they were required, and both men made their way around to the front courtyard by way of the servants entrance, able to survey the scene and intervene if necessary.

The Brigadier was grateful to his friend for tackling the situation – he had fought greater men over less in the past, but he had no desire to cause his wife additional anguish and risk placing himself in danger of harm…..but he hated standing idly by.

Nicholas took several strides away from the doorway and turned to await the slender figure of Matthew De Cunliffe.  
“Brigadier Strike may be too much of a gentleman to wish to make a scene in front of the ladies….but I can assure you, Mr De Cunliffe, that I have no such issue,” and he took two strides towards his opponent, glancing at the man’s smarmy expression as he brought back his fist and delivered a powerful left handed punch to Matthew De Cunliffe’s face.

“THAT,” he panted fractionally, “Is for daring to insinuate anything untowards between myself, my wife and Mrs Strike.”

He grasped Matthew by the lapels as he was attempting to see straight and delivered a second, bone-crunching fist to his nose, “And that…..that is for allowing an unsubstantiated rumour surrounding myself and Strike in a brothel to perpetuate when you could have quelled it…..now come on, hit me!”

And to Matthew’s shock the tall man stood before him, his thighs in a wide, prepared stance, pointing at his own jaw in an invitation.

De Cunliffe spat out a globule of blood and threw a poorly executed but heavy punch which made contact with Nicholas’ cheek.

“GOOD!” shouted Nicholas, almost laughing, “I deserved that…for allowing myself to be placed in that hideous situation by YOU!” and he swung and delivered a third jab to Matthew’s reddened face.

“That’s for endangering Mrs Strike’s life….your stupid gossip with Lady Sarah Shadlock brought the baby early, you self centred fool."

Matthew had the grace to look stunned and affected by Nicholas’ most recent comment and he flashed his eyes back towards the house.  
Nicholas however had adrenaline coursing through his body and with a final, flourishing, back-handed swipe knocked De Cunliffe’s beaten body to the gravel.

“And that," he panted, wiping his mouth with his cuff……"that’s just because I wanted to! Now leave!” Nicholas gasped, shaking his left hand and rubbing his grazed knuckles as he turned his back on the snivelling, broken man on the driveway.

He caught the impressed gaze of Shanker who was hovering by the main door, “Shanker….I’d like to take my wife home now….can you arrange a carriage?”  
“My pleaszha, Sir,” he nodded, indicating to Barclay that he should assist Mr De Cunliffe into his own waiting carriage.

Ilsa, and the Brigadier made their way out of the house, the two men flashed bonding and appreciative glances between each other as Venetia followed to the doorway holding her heavily wrapped daughter in her arms.

De Cunliffe shrugged off the assistance of Barclay and one of the hands from his own carriage and staggered, his arms shrugging by his sides and issuing a defeated snort of laughter as he looked back at the scene.  
“Look at you? Picture perfect! You all get what you want….the election looks like a landslide to you Herbert….count wasn’t over but it was already pretty obvious you’ve won!”

Mrs Herbert flashed an adoring look at her husband who looked slightly taken aback.

“You all get the happy endings…..no happy ending for De Cunliffe! Why are you all permitted happiness eh?” he continued snarling.

The Brigadier had moved to stand beside his wife and rested his hand in the small of her back as he smiled down at his daughter’s gurgling face.

“We’re all as happy as we deserve,” he stated, “Although in my own case I feel as though I am indeed happier, and luckier, than any man has the right to be.”

Matthew De Cunliffe gave a final backwards glance as he crawled into his covered carriage. 

The image of Nicholas Herbert kissing his wife’s hand as she scrutinised his bloodied cheek and of Brigadier Strike tenderly taking his child into his arms and guiding his radiant, amber-haired wife inside his homely, glowing windowed house was indeed picture perfect.

And all he would ever be was an outside observer to such happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas to you all, and as usual, thank you for following, reading, commenting, kudosing and generally enjoying.


End file.
